


Falling in Love... Among Other Things

by Jenetica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Will doesn't need to be saved, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hannibal is adorable and clumsy, M/M, Vague Hannibal Rising references, strong canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Hannibal Lecter was very clumsy. It was the first thing Will noticed about the man, who tripped and stumbled his way into Will's life. </p><p>It only seemed fair that Will should fall for him in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I found [this gifset](http://themurderfamilybusiness.tumblr.com/post/54087484880/hiddlebatchedloki-willgrahamscock-hannibal) on Tumblr and couldn't resist. The prompt demanded fluff, and who better to respond than the sappiest Hannigram writer ever? Exactly.
> 
> Un-beta'd, because I'm impatient.
> 
> Thanks to Rasaleane on Tumblr for pushing me into writing this, because I really like it. :)

Will Graham picked at the grease smudged under his nails, letting his mind wander as he waited for the waitress to make her way over to his table. It was taking a while, which was surprising. Then again, it _was_ a holiday weekend, Will supposed.

He'd been coming to Hal's Diner once a week for lunch since he'd discovered the place with his friend, Bev. She worked for the FBI—a glorified vacuum cleaner, she dubbed herself, doomed to an eternity of picking up rogue hairs and dead skin cells—and rarely had time to spend with friends, but she had insisted Will try Hal's famous bacon sloppy joes and, well, Will couldn't refuse bacon. He'd been enchanted by the atmosphere, an eclectic blend of French bistro and old-fashioned diner, but it was the food that kept him coming back week after week.

Eating alone, of course, presented several an awkward situation. A perpetual bachelor, Will preferred the quiet companionship of his various dogs over the intrinsic compromises of a relationship. He was a particular man, a personality borne of peculiarities and idiosyncrasies that didn’t do well interacting with another person’s set of peculiarities and idiosyncrasies.

That wasn’t to say that Will was _lonely_ ; in fact, he quite enjoyed his solitude. He was primarily a boat mechanic, though he often found himself elbow-deep in the viscera of many different types of motors. He’d never opened a store—everyone in town knew where his house was, and he was more comfortable in his shed than anywhere else—but his business never waned. He understood motors better than most mechanics. It was hard to explain, really, how he instinctually knew the intricacies of an engine, and he had long ago stopped trying. People just knew him as the prodigal fix-it man, a moniker he accepted as easily as he accepted the revenue that came with it.

The downside to such a career was that it confined Will to his home. He rarely traveled to Baltimore, the exception being his weekly lunch at Hal’s. It was here, among couples and families, that Will felt the bubble of isolation most acutely. Sometimes Bev would join him, when she got the chance, and that was nice; today was not one of those days.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard the hostess say, “but every table is full.”

“Are you sure there is no where?” A deep, accented voice responded. “This restaurant came highly recommended and today is the only day I can spare the time.” Will peered inside the door—the diner often kept its doors open during the summer months, so the bustle of the restaurant could pour out onto the patio, where Will was currently seated—to eavesdrop a bit. Unfortunately, the bright sunlight made it difficult to see into the diner, but Will could just make out the faint outlines of the hostess and a tall man.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the hostess said, “but, unless you can find someone willing to share their table….”

“I see,” the man replied. “Thank you for your time.” He bowed slightly—formal much?—and turned to walk out of the diner. His toe got caught on the mat and he stumbled, catching himself on the hostess’ podium. Once he righted himself, he continued out the door. He squinted as the sunlight hit his eyes, and Will gasped in his chair.

This man was beautiful. He couldn’t be called handsome; that implied large, clear eyes and traditionally good looks, and the man wasn’t that kind of person. His face looked like it was cut from granite, all sharp angles and sloping planes; very Scandinavian. His body was tall but compact, hinting at a firm musculature under the layers of his suit. If Will hadn’t seen the man trip but seconds earlier, he’d have imagined the man to be the epitome of grace.

“Sir?” Will heard a voice calling out. “You can sit with me, if you’d like.” The man turned towards Will, and the mechanic realized that the voice was his own. Why had he done that? Now he’d have to make conversation, dammit.

The man grinned brightly, and Will forgot all about his lack of desire to make small talk. If he’d thought the man beautiful before he smiled, now he was gorgeous. Will praised the sculptor that chiseled out those lips, because _damn._

The lips moved, and Will forced himself to focus. “… don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Will replied, dragging his gaze up to the man’s eyes. They were a dark, dark brown and surrounded by fine lines that made Will go weak at the knees. Thank God he was sitting. “I, uh, I’m alone, so it’s no trouble.”

The man pulled out the chair opposite Will and stumbled over one of its legs. He collapsed into the chair, lines of bright pink blooming high on his cheekbones. _And what cheekbones they were_ , Will thought.

“You would think that a man of my age would be used to his own feet,” the man sighed, smoothing a hand over his straw blond hair. He extended a hand across the table. “Hannibal Lecter.”

Will chuckled and grasped the hand tightly, pumping it twice. “Will Graham.”

“Nice to meet you, Will,” Hannibal said, adjusting himself in his seat to be more comfortable. “Thank you for allowing me to sit at your table.”

Will shrugged. “Like I said, I’m eating alone. Why turn away a stray patron in need?”

“Do you take in strays often?” Hannibal joked.

“Actually… yeah, I do,” Will admitted. “I have, what, ten dogs now? I suffer from a soft touch, I guess.”

“Ah, but there are far worse afflictions,” Hannibal said, eyes warm. “I’m sure your dogs appreciate it just as much as I do.”

“I’d like to think so,” Will said, breaking eye contact to look down at his plate. If he spent another second drinking in the fathoms of Hannibal’s eyes, he—well, he wasn’t sure what would happen. And, in the middle of a diner, that wasn’t the smartest situation to be in. “So what do you do?”

“I’m a psychiatrist,” Hannibal said. “Though I used to be a surgeon.” Will, surprised, looked up from studying the condensation on his glass of water. Out of all professions, surgeon was not one Will would have picked out for someone so obviously clumsy.

Apparently his shock was evident, because Hannibal laughed lowly. The sound rolled over Will in thick waves, and he found himself incapable of being embarrassed about being so obvious when it elicited such a delicious reaction.

“I assure you, I am much better with my hands than I am with my feet,” Hannibal promised. Will swallowed around the heavy ‘ _I bet you are_ ’ sitting precariously in his throat and hid his face in the menu.

“So you’ve never been here before?” he asked behind the safety of laminate.

“Alas, no,” Hannibal said. “One of my patients keeps mentioning it during our sessions, so I’ve decided to give it a try. I’m sure he intended for us to eat here _together_ , but, well…”

“You don’t socialize with your patients?” Will supplied, putting down the menu. As nice as it was to hide himself away from Hannibal, it was also incredibly rude.

“Well, there is that,” Hannibal said, “but this patient is… well, I would not choose to share a meal with him, regardless of our professional relationship.”

“I see,” Will replied. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Lucky for me, I’ve met far better company,” Hannibal said, smiling. “So, what’s good here?”

Their discussion flowed easily after that. Will told him about discovering this place with Bev, and Hannibal confessed that he almost always cooked his own meals. He ended up picking a turkey club, as per Will’s recommendation, and loved it. Will enjoyed watching Hannibal eat his food almost more than he enjoyed eating his own. Hannibal had been telling the truth when he said that his hands were more graceful than his feet; he ate with exquisite delicacy, fingers curled around thick sourdough with the poise of a pianists’.

It was with great joy that Will accepted Hannibal’s invitation to dinner next week. “I must insist,” Hannibal had said. “You shared with me your table, it’s only fair that I do the same.”

And if Will called Bev immediately afterwards to tell her all about the sexy, clumsy man he’d met at lunch, well, that was neither here nor there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... awww. :D
> 
> This will probably be a few chapters long, FYI.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So the response to the first chapter was absolutely overwhelming! I never imagined this taking off the way it has. Thank you guys so much! :)
> 
> Un-beta'd, because I'm impatient. That said, I'm a lot more self-conscious about this chapter, so... sorry if it sucks? Hopefully I'm being hypercritical. 
> 
> Oh, and I found another gifset from whatever glorious movie Mads did in which he's clumsy and adorable. [Here you go.](http://themurderfamilybusiness.tumblr.com/post/54704371106/hannibalmorelikecannibal-hannibalcrackers)

Will’s entire demeanor changed over the course of the following week. His dogs all received baths and a handful of treats each, and his house had never been cleaner. He even whistled while he worked, fingers slipping over injection nozzles and intake pumps. 

He wasn’t sure why Hannibal was affecting him so deeply. Will was a decent-looking guy, if he said so himself, and he often felt the gaze of men and women alike burning holes in his back. It wasn’t like he was desperate for the attention.

And this was only a dinner invitation, right? A reciprocation of kindness. It was hardly a _date_.

For all that Will talked himself down, he still found himself worrying over his wardrobe two hours before he was supposed to be at Hannibal’s house. The psychiatrist had texted him the address this morning, along with an enigmatic ‘ _hope you like duck!_ ’

Will had never had duck, and he felt a little in over his head. An overactive imagination had always plagued the mechanic, and now it was reminding him that Hannibal was a mysterious, European professional with a history of cutting people open that had invited him _to his house,_ and wasn’t that a bit ominous? Hannibal could be a serial killer, for all Will knew, a cannibal with a fondness for getting to know his prey before brutally murdering it. Maybe he should cancel? And he had nothing to wear!

Forty-five minutes later, Will folded himself into his car. He’d chosen a plaid shirt, khaki slacks, and a grey sports jacket. Bev called them his “professor” clothes, though Will thought he looked more like a wayward librarian than anything else. It was either this or grease-stained jeans, though, so they’d have to do.

It took an hour to get to Hannibal’s house, which was just on the other side of Baltimore. As Will drove past the houses, which were getting increasingly bigger and nicer, he recalled his earlier realization that he knew next to nothing about Hannibal Lecter. Nerves settled heavy in his belly, coiling like thick, oily snakes. He had half-convinced himself to just leave by the time he rang the doorbell.

One look at Hannibal’s happy, excited expression, however, sent those snakes fleeing. Will knew this man; he’d spent over an hour shooting the breeze with him. You can learn more about someone by spending half-an-hour talking about nothingness than you can by learning every fact there is to know about them, after all.

“Will! You’re early,” Hannibal greeted, stepping aside to allow Will entrance. The mechanic stepped into the foyer and instantly felt underdressed in his pilly tweed and scuffed loafers: Hannibal’s house was like something out of a designer’s portfolio. The foyer was light and warm, café au lait without the urgency of caffeine, and decorated carefully with antique-looking tables and burnished bronze fixtures.

“I’m still making dinner, I’m afraid,” Hannibal said worriedly. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“It’s fine,” Will replied vaguely, distracted by a gorgeous painting of a vase of flowers.

“Oh do you like it?” Hannibal asked, following Will’s line of sight to the painting. “It’s not my best, but I find that it suits the décor of the foyer well enough.”

“You painted this?” Will asked incredulously. “Seriously? You’re a surgeon-turned-therapist with an eye for design and, apparently, the talent of a Dutch master. Is there anything you’re _not_ good at?”

“Walking,” Hannibal said without missing a beat. Will couldn’t hold back a wild bark of laughter.

“Right.” Will shook his head. “So is there anything I can do to help?”

“I think not,” Hannibal said, ushering Will out of the foyer. “It’s one thing to be unprepared for a guest’s arrival, it’s quite another to have that guest do your work for you.”

Will would have responded, but he was too awestruck to pay attention. Hannibal’s house felt like a classy ray of sunshine, bright and happy but also sophisticated and undeniably artistic. Will could almost feel his heart lightening just by being in the place. The living room was dotted with small vases overflowing with wildflowers, and paintings of vast countrysides hung on the walls.

“ _Š ūdas_.” 

Will, surprised out of his trance, turned to Hannibal; He had gotten the hem of his jacket caught on the banister and was currently extricating it carefully. “Clothing troubles?” Will asked, trying to hide a smile. And he’d thought this man was going to kill him. Will would very much like to see him try.

“Apologies,” Hannibal said, that same damnable blush from Hal’s rising on his cheeks again. “If only I could be as coordinated as my color scheme. Shall we?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Will, following Hannibal the rest of the way into the kitchen. This room was just as beautiful as the other rooms, though this one was obviously more used. Every appliance was placed just so for maximum efficiency with minimal chance for clumsiness—the oven was next to the stove, and the two islands placed together to create an ‘L’, a perfect nook for working without walking around too much—and it was absolutely charming, considering Hannibal’s ability to fall on thin air.

Except he wasn’t clumsy, not now. As soon as Hannibal stepped into the kitchen, his entire persona changed. His posture straightened, his shoulders relaxed, and a confident calm rested over his features. He was the master of this room, and he knew it.

It was damned sexy.

Hannibal had obviously been in the process of plating the dishes, which he finished quickly. They were works of art, truly. Fine lines of red and yellow sauces contrasted well with the pale pink slices of meat, accenting the delicacy of duck. Alongside the meat was a salad made of watercress and those same wildflowers from the living room, reminding the eater of the duck’s life, lived along pond beds and marshes.

Will was grateful for his decision to take up watching the Food Network from time to time, or he’d have lost the poetry of the dish. It really was quite intricate. He considered the psychiatrist currently decanting a bottle of white wine. Hannibal was such a juxtaposition of personalities—charming yet maladroit, serious yet cheery—and it was absolutely confounding. Will could only hope that he got the chance to figure out the puzzle that was Hannibal Lecter, because he was quite sure it was worth the trouble.

Dinner tasted even better than it looked. The duck was rich and savory and was offset excellently by the sharp, tangy salad. Conversation was light and easy, and Will found himself sharing a number of stories from his childhood. Hannibal seemed delighted to hear about Louisiana and asked a series of questions whenever Will stopped to take a sip of wine.

“No, enough about me,” Will said, feeling a little hazy. He didn’t drink often, so the two glasses of wine he’d drunk so far were affecting him rather strongly. “Tell me about you. How on Earth did you end up a psychiatrist in Baltimore?”

“Well,” Hannibal hedged, “It’s a bit of a long story, really.”

“Oh,” Will said, chagrined. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d—“

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Hannibal said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s only fair. Let’s see….

“I was born in Lithuania. My family was quite prominent there, and my early childhood was lavished with love and expensive presents. Then, when I was eight, an epidemic of influenza ravaged much of the country. We had the best doctors, but it was for naught. My mother died from dehydration, and my father followed her shortly thereafter. My sister, Mischa, survived but lost the use of her legs. How I remained unscathed, I may never know.

“The wave of influenza passed, but Mischa never regained her strength. For three years, I stood at her bedside, waiting for her to stand up so we could go play. The naiveté of youth is truly a marvelous thing, isn’t it? Unfortunately, she only got worse. One day, I was reading her a story—and isn’t it funny, but I can still remember how the story goes—and she grasped my hand, said “You know, Hanni, you are the best brother I could have possibly asked for,” and closed her eyes. She died in my arms.”

“God, I am so sorry,” Will said hoarsely. “That sounds awful. You don’t have to continue, you shouldn’t have to relive this.”

Hannibal stared at him blankly for a moment, as if he’d forgotten that Will was there. “No,” he said, shaking his head lightly, “I don’t mind. I have come to terms with her death. Unless, of course, you don’t want me to continue?”

“Not at all!” Will assured him. “Please.”

“Very well,” Hannibal said, sighing deeply. “Where was I? Ah. It took me hours to accept that she had died. The servants were sobbing, and I couldn’t understand why. We’d all fought so long, so hard, for her to survive, and it just didn’t make sense that she would pass now, after all this time. I think I was angry at her for a long time for that. It took me a few months to get my affairs in order, but eventually I gave the castle—“ Will gasped, and Hannibal smiled thinly—“yes, I lived in a castle. I gave the castle to a local orphanage (which was only fair, considering my orphaning was the cause of my departure), and left Lithuania forever. I traveled to France, learned to cook, and ultimately decided to go to medical school. I simply _had_ to learn how to help people. My entire life up to that point had been dictated by disease, and I made sure that the rest of it would be dedicated to righting that wrong.

“I flourished in medical school. When I was accepted to Johns Hopkins for my residency, I picked up my life and moved for what I hope is the final time. Baltimore suits me. Somewhere between cleaning bedpans and losing one too many a patient on the operating table, I forgave Mischa for giving up on life, I forgave Fate for stealing away my family, and I forgave myself for being unable to join them. I turned in my scalpel and became a psychiatrist instead. And that’s essentially where I am now.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Will, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. “And I thought I had it bad when I didn’t get that puppy I wanted when I was ten.” As soon as the words left his lips he froze and wished he could take them back: Hannibal had just shared his entire life story, rife with misery and overcoming grief. The least Will could do was take it fucking _seriously._

A deep rumble startled Will, and he realized that Hannibal was laughing. Hard. Will cracked a confused smile, simultaneously proud of himself for making Hannibal laugh and mortified to hell.

“We all have our woes, I suppose,” Hannibal said finally, rubbing at his eyes a little. “Oh relax, Will. Do I look like I still live under sorrow’s shadow? You cannot live there and expect to survive. You must grow up and take sorrow’s hand, look at it and say, “Let’s you and I never see each other again,” and say goodbye. I have, and I think I’m a well-balanced person. Well, in the emotional sense anyway. I’m certainly not well-balanced physically.”

Will laughed, marveling at the man sitting across from him. He’d imagined just about every possible scenario in his bedroom that afternoon—from horrible dismemberment to making a royal ass of himself to finding himself bored out of his mind—but he’d never imagined this. He’d never imagined clumsy Hannibal Lecter tripping his way into his heart. He’d never imagined falling in love.

But now that he had, Will Graham could imagine many such things, and he couldn’t wait for them to start coming true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple quick things:
> 
> I changed Hannibal's life story a bit. Originally, the Lecters abandoned their castle and hid away in their hunting lodge because the Nazi movement was ravaging Eastern Europe. A tank exploded near the lodge and killed Hannibal's parents. He survived with Mischa for a few years, but then a rogue band of Lithuanian Nazi-supporters found the hunting lodge and took it over, killing and cannibalizing Mischa while Hannibal watched. This (arguably) caused him to hate humanity and become the raging sociopath he is today. In my story, however, he's a harmless guy, so I manipulated everything to (hopefully) make sense.
> 
> 'Šūdas' is Lithuanian for 'shit.' I feel awkward having Hannibal curse, but I think maybe this version of him is a little less uptight about propriety. And I'm the writer, so... there. >:P
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so half of the prompt was "Hannibal is a clumsy psychiatrist," but the other half was "Will Graham doesn't need help." [This is that bit.](http://themurderfamilybusiness.tumblr.com/post/55174837562/hannibals-chicken-soup-watson-sighs-and-tuts)
> 
> Additionally, this is pretty similar to how I imagine Will acting. I mean, the clothes are different and everything, but he's that kinda awkward, kinda cool, totally adorable guy. Yeah. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! So you're going to hate me twice. Once, because it's been like five days since I updated, and twice, because I cut Chapter 3 in half, so you're only really getting part one! I'm sorry! 
> 
> It's just that this little bit of the story got way out of hand (you'll see what I mean next chapter) and I ended up focusing way too hard on something that didn't need such focus. BUT, hopefully, it all turned out okay :)
> 
> Unbeta-d! (But my beta is going to be working on it WOOHOO! So, if you hate finding so many little mistakes, wait a while. :) )
> 
> Oh, lastly, I've gotten requests for more gifsets! I've run out of 100% relevant gifs, but I'm branching out! Gif and relevancy is in the chapter summary.

Will shook his hair out his eyes and squinted against the sunlight. It had been over a week since he had dinner at Hannibal’s house, and he’d heard nary a word from the doctor. Maybe he’d messed things up? The wine had gotten to him, morning-after headache and everything, but he hadn’t been _that_ drunk. Had he? He’d driven home okay, right? God, why was he so bad at this stuff?

Then again, he hadn’t said anything to Hannibal, either. Communication is a two-way street, after all. Will pulled his phone out of his pocket.

‘ _Movie tonight?’_

A few moments later, Hannibal texted back. _‘Certainly. Which movie?’_

Will laughed, relieved. _‘I hadn’t actually gotten that far, yet._ ’ He whistled to his dogs, which were chasing each other across his back yard, and headed into his house. He was unzipping his jacket when his phone buzzed.

‘ _Let me know. Drinks at mine after?_ ’

Will inhaled sharply. Drinks? Like, drinks or, like, _drinks_? Technically, if one considered every time Will had spent time with Hannibal to be a date, this was their third date. Will might not be a Casanova, but he knew what third dates meant. Fingers shaking, he typed his reply.

_‘Sure._ ’

Will spent the rest of the morning picking out movies. Baltimore hosted a number of theatres, many of which offered eclectic collections of films. Will picked up his phone. ‘ _Okay, do you prefer blockbusters or foreign films or artsy films or what? I’m a little lost, here.’_

He was reading a synopsis of a French film (a woman was in love with a wheel of cheese? What?) when Hannibal texted back. _‘Something popular. Those are the good ones, right? I’m a little rusty when it comes to movies._ ’

Will snorted. ‘ _Okay, I’ll do my best. You aren’t allowed to judge me based on my selection, though_.’

He scrolled through the movies, trying his best to find something good. Rom-coms were a definite no for obvious reasons. Will wasn’t much of an action fan—needless violence disturbed him—and he doubted Hannibal would like them, either. Maybe horror?

His phone buzzed. _‘I’m a psychiatrist, Will. Judging people is literally my job.’_

Will laughed loudly, startling his dogs. _‘Touché. How are you with horror?’_

He waited a few moments. _‘I don’t know.’_

_‘Thanks, Helpful,_ ’ he texted back, rolling his eyes. _‘Horror it is. If it’s awful, it’s on you. 7:30?_ ’

‘ _I accept this burden. 7:30 it is.’_

Will turned off his computer and went out to his shed to work. He had five hours to kill; he might as well be productive with them. He didn’t have any motors to repair at the moment so he sat at his desk to make some lures.

Handcrafting lures was an intricate process, one that allowed Will’s mind to drift pleasantly while he worked. He tied a black string around the base of a fishhook and began looping it around the thin piece of metal.

Will’s budding relationship with Hannibal was starting to nudge at the walls of his comfort zone. Will was inexperienced with people; making friends was a cause for a celebration in the Graham household of one. This—whatever ‘this’ was—was unprecedented. Okay, yeah, Will had gone out on a few dates in his day, taken a few one-off lovers, what have you… but nothing quite so _permanent_ feeling as this.

And that scared Will, too: why did everything feel so permanent, so immutable, that Will was consciously worried about upsetting the status quo? He’d met Hannibal a week ago, for Chrissakes.

Will placed a black feather in the lure and tied it carefully into position, then began winding again.

Maybe he was just overthinking things. Men got together and hung out sometimes, right? Just two casual friends, being casual in close proximity and doing fun, casual things… like dinner and a movie… right? Hell, Hannibal could be straight! Will doubted it, not with that skill for interior design, but you never knew! Right?

Will’s hand slipped and he pricked himself on the hook. “Damn,” he said, sucking his knuckle into his mouth. The motion had shifted several layers of thread, and he’d have to redo them all. He unwound the thread and repositioned a red feather that had gone askew, then started looping the thread around the lure again.

_Funny_ , Will thought, _how you can make a mistake and just undo it all and fix it back up again. I wish people were that way._ But people weren’t that way; faux pas lingered, relationships soured, people grew apart. You couldn’t just unwind a friendship and start over. Life wasn’t like that.

But Will hadn’t made any mistakes with Hannibal yet—no feathers to replace, no strings to untangle—and he had no logical reason to fear any imminent destruction.

Getting hooked, however, was an entirely different story. 

Will managed to make three lures by the time he needed to start getting ready. One was red, one was yellow, and one was pale pink, and Will tried (and failed) not to notice how similarly they matched Hannibal’s dinner.

He chose more casual clothes this time, though he doubted Hannibal would do the same. He didn’t know the psychiatrist very well, but Hannibal seemed like the type to wear a suit all the time. Will didn’t mind one bit; not when he looked so damn good in them.

The drive to Hannibal’s house was unbelievably pleasant. Baltimore shone in the early summer months. Every tree was in blossom, sending white petals to the streets in blizzard-like cascades of sweet smelling pollen, and the entire city thrummed with happy energy. 

Hannibal’s house, which probably looked formidable in the winter, glowed invitingly in the warm rays of the setting sun. Will knocked on the door at seven o’clock sharp and fidgeted with the sleeves of his button-down. Hannibal opened the door in a light-gray three piece and Will fought the urge to smirk: he was right.

“Good evening,” Hannibal said, smiling as he stood aside to let Will in.

“Hey.” Will grinned. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just let me get my coat.” Hannibal moved to his closet and withdrew a long pea coat.

“Hannibal,” Will said incredulously, “it’s seventy-five degrees outside. You’ll be sweating in that suit as is.”

Hannibal considered that for a moment. “Okay,” he agreed. He put his coat back on its hanger and hung it in the closet, but he’d accidentally gotten his finger hooked under the hanger, so when he tried to move his arm, the hanger flipped off the rod and the coat went toppling to the floor.

“You okay?” Will asked, trying very hard not to laugh.

Hannibal gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m fine,” he said, bending to pick up his coat. He hung it and closed the closet door.

“Your car or mine?” Will asked. Hannibal smiled at him, grateful for the change of subject.

“Either or. I’m assuming you know the address of the theater, though,” he replied.

“Right.” Will twisted the watch on his wrist nervously. “Shall we, then?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update should be soon! Thanks for reading, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry about the wait! I feel like I lied to you guys when I said this story would be updated more quickly than Hannibal the Handyman. My life is getting busier, I've taken up watching Teen Wolf... it's just a mess. But this chapter is long! Hopefully that makes up for it a little.
> 
> In lieu of posting another gifset, I'm going to offer the URL to my writing blog: jenetica.tumblr.com. This blog will be treated like the 'behind the scenes' of how I write. It's kind of like commentary, I guess? Anyway, I also may post sneak-peeks into future chapters and future stories, and I'll accept prompts there. So yeah, check that one out. Yep.
> 
> Onto the reading!

The ride to the theater took ten minutes. _Perks of living in the city_ , Will thought enviously; his house in Wolf Trap was great, but little could be said about its convenient location.

The movie theater was busy but not packed, and Hannibal and Will got their seats relatively easily. Will had chosen seats right in the center of the room: he didn’t like sitting too close to the screen, but sitting in the back might have given Hannibal the wrong impression.

It wasn’t that Will wouldn’t _mind_ kissing Hannibal, of course, but he wasn’t sure if their relationship was ready for (or even relevant to) that step. And kissing in the back of the theater was gauche, anyway. Will and Hannibal weren’t hormone-driven teenagers, they were grown men. _So yeah_ , Will concluded defiantly, arguing with a faceless antagonist of his own creation, _center seats, then._

He’d bought a large popcorn, more out of the need to follow tradition than actual hunger. Hannibal shot him peculiar looks throughout the previews until Will offered the bag to him. “Want some?”

Hannibal peered at the glistening kernels curiously. “It looks revolting.”

“Just try it,” Will cajoled, shaking the bag lightly.

“If you insist.” Hannibal took his time selecting a kernel, and Will had to hide a smile because, really, a middle-aged man had no business being _adorable_ , of all things. Hannibal finally picked out his popcorn and chewed it thoughtfully.

“It’s very salty,” he said, grimacing.

“Well, yeah,” Will said, “it’s popcorn. It’s supposed to be salty.”

“Hm,” Hannibal sniffed, turning back to the screen. Will rolled his eyes and followed suit, watching some action-packed preview about a middle-aged has-been that needs to fight some looming evil to save his country, and to validate himself as a man. Stupid.

The movie started shortly thereafter. The synopsis said that it was about a group of college students that decided to go camping for spring break, but “they began to regret their decision when, one by one, they started disappearing.”

It seemed okay so far. The characters were a bit lackluster, but the stark cinematography was captivating. Will almost didn’t notice the hand that crept into his lap to grab a piece of popcorn. Almost. Will grinned, and angled the bag so Hannibal could reach it more easily. Frigging adorable.

The movie progressed about as Will had expected. The first night, everyone sat around and told ghost stories around a campfire. Adam, the brawny fraternity member, scoffed at them all and told the scariest story. 

“Yeah, it’s called a Wendigo,” he said, leaning over the fire so the flames threw his face into shadow, “and it prowls forests, just like this one. It creeps in at the dead of night and finds campers, just like us. It sneaks into your tent while your sleeping, and it kidnaps you while you’re sleeping. You don’t even know it’s there. It carries you back to its lair, ties you up, and, when you wake up? Well, I’m not sure if I should tell you what it does then.”

“No, what happens?” Stacy, his girlfriend asked in a hushed whisper. Adam looked at the circle of friends consideringly. They were all leaned in, listening with rapt attention.

“Okay,” said Adam darkly. “I’ll tell you. He brings you back, and when you wake up, he leans in close to you, face a mess of stinking, rotting flesh and—“ he leaned even closer over the fire and, like clockwork, the rest of the circle leaned in with him, “—he brings his mouth, full of razor sharp teeth, close to your ear and do you know what he tells you?”

“No, what?” Megan, Stacy’s best friend, whispered fearfully. Her boyfriend, Parker, wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively. He, too, seemed scared. Adam smiled, all teeth.

“He leans in close, and tells you… _the_ shittest fucking ghost stories you have ever heard.” Adam broke out into peals of laughter. “You guys are such pussies.”

“Adam!” Stacy shrieked, laughing as she slapped his arm. “You jerk!” 

“You suck, man,” said Kyle, the last member of their group, and the only one without a girlfriend. “You suck hard.”

“You guys should have seen your faces,” Adam roared, clutching his stomach. “God, I’m in pain! A Wendigo? Really? I just made that shit up!”

“Actually,” whispered Hannibal, leaning in close to whisper in Will’s ear, “the Wendigo is a demonic creature dating back centuries. It started off as a human, but cannibalized so much that it mutated into a monster.”

Will felt his heart flip as Hannibal’s breath slid over his skin. “Really?” he asked turning to look at the doctor, only to bump his nose into Hannibal’s cheekbone. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Hannibal breathed, and Will suddenly wished he’d picked a seat further back. “I just thought you should know; might be relevant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will said, but he’d already forgotten what he was supposed to be remembering. Oops.

A scream tore them from each other. The movie had progressed to the following morning; Parker had gone missing, and it was Megan that screamed. The film cut to blurry, roving shots of the forest. Things were getting scarier, now.

Adam sat everyone down and started concocting a plan to split up and search for their missing friend. Megan, in stereotypical Hollywood fashion, was too broken up over her missing boyfriend to pay attention, so Kyle offered to team up with her.

Stacy pulled Megan aside to console her while the boys packed, and Megan confessed that she was pregnant, and she’d never gotten to tell Parker about it.

And through it all, Hannibal steadily stole popcorn from the bag in Will’s lap. Tired of the salty snack and amused beyond belief, Will offered the bag to Hannibal, who accepted it guiltily. But then, so quickly that Will almost didn’t see it, Hannibal reached over and sneaked a sip of Will’s soda.

“Did you just…?” Will asked, eyes round with shock.

“What?” Hannibal said innocently. “I was thirsty.” He popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and grinned shamelessly.

“It’s like you’re a four-year-old,” Will sighed, returning Hannibal’s smile.

“Do you guys _mind_?” a girl whispered harshly from two rows over. “Or is the movie interrupting you?”

Will flushed and traded guilty looks with Hannibal, then turned back to the movie. It really _was_ better than he had expected it to be.

Kyle was talking to Megan. “I just have to take a leak, okay? I’ll be right over there. Gimme just a minute.”

“Okay,” Megan said, offering him a watery smile. “I’ll be here.”

Kyle went around a few trees and stopped to pee. A second later, he heard a blood-curdling scream. He zipped himself back up and raced back to where he’d left Megan, only to find the girl gone.

“Fuck!” Kyle said. “Megan? MEGAN!”

Suspenseful music started playing, tiny pinpricks of violin escalating up and up, building and building. Kyle looked around fearfully, panic setting in as he began to hyperventilate.

Suddenly, the music stopped and a heavy hand fell on Kyle shoulder. He screamed, and suddenly it was raining popcorn.

Wait, what?

Will looked to his left; Hannibal, who apparently had gotten very caught up in the movie, had jumped when Kyle screamed, which upset the bag on his lap. There was popcorn _everywhere_. Will snorted loudly, drawing several angry glances from other moviegoers. Hannibal and Will watched the movie silently for a moment; Will wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak, and Hannibal seemed to embarrassed to want to try.

The hand had been Adam’s: he’d heard Megan’s scream and come running. When he arrived to find her missing, he led Kyle back to the camp and sat him down with a bottle of whiskey.

“Someone’s doing this,” Kyle said hollowly, nursing the bottle.

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

“I mean that no wildlife could have done this. I know these woods; it’s the only reason I agreed to come along. Someone is taking us out, one-by-one. They want us scared, they want us distracted. Someone is doing this to us.”

“I see,” Adam said. “How well do you know these woods, Kyle?”

“Like the back of my hand, dude,” Kyle said, taking a large swig of whiskey. “My dad’s a hunter. I grew up here.”

Adam didn’t respond, choosing instead to pack away the now extra tent. Stacy arrived back a few minutes later, unsuccessful in her attempts to find Parker, and was heartbroken to discover that Megan was now gone as well.

Adam pulled her aside, out of earshot of Kyle. “Stacy, I know this is hard to handle, but I think we need to have a serious discussion about what is going on, here.”

Stacy peered up at him, eyes a mess of runny black makeup. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that two people have gone missing, Stacy,” Adam said, voice hard with worry. “I talked with Kyle, and he says that no animal could have done this.”

“What?” Stacy said, shaking her head confusedly. “What are you saying, Adam?”

“I’m saying that we’re not talking about some _thing_. We’re talking about some _one_.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You don’t think it’s Kyle, do you?”

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to, no, but… Stacy, he told me that he knows these woods. That his dad was a hunter, and he grew up here. It… it fits, doesn’t it?" 

“He has a tent to himself,” Stacy gasped, eyes wide with realization. “He could sneak out in the middle of the night without anyone noticing.”

Adam nodded. “And you know that Parker’s been trying to help him out lately, find him a girl and everything. I bet it would have been easy for Kyle to draw him out of his tent, lead him into the woods to talk in private, or something.”

“And he was with Megan when she disappeared,” Stacy moaned, her face pale with horror. “He was the only one who could have seen what happened.”

“Exactly,” Adam said, face grim. “The evidence is… it’s too much, Stacy. Too perfect to be anything but true.”

“What do we do?” Stacy asked, eyes clearing in determination. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“There’s only one thing _to_ do,” Adam said. “We can’t call the cops. We have no way of restraining him. Who’s to say he won’t sneak into our tent and kill us, too?”

“Fuck,” Stacy breathed. “We have to kill him, don’t we?”

A twig snapped, and Stacy and Adam swung their heads toward the sound. Kyle, ashen-faced, stepped out from behind a tree, hunting knife clutched tightly in one hand. “Kill who, exactly?”

“Hi, Kyle,” Stacy said, plastering a desperately fake smile on her face. “Um… no one?”

“Where were you when Megan was taken?” Adam said, stepping in front of Stacy.

“What?” Kyle asked, thrown off-guard. “Peeing, like I said.”

“You were peeing for long enough for a girl to be attacked, silenced, and carried out of eyesight,” Adam said, his voice patronizing.

“Yes?” Kyle said, faltering. “I didn’t think it had been that long. Maybe he hid her up a tree, or something?”

“Is that what you do, you sick bastard?” Stacy shrieked, moving out from behind her boyfriend. “You hang them in the trees?!”

“I—what? No!” Kyle exclaimed. “I didn’t kill them, I swear!”

“The evidence says you did, Kyle,” Adam said, voice and body like stone. “Everything points to you.”

“It does, does it?” Kyle asked, eyes narrowing. He clenched the knife tighter, moving into a defensive stance. “Well, I wonder why.”

He dove for Adam, who deflected him with a punch to the ribs. They tumbled to the ground, Adam clutching at Kyle’s wrist, warding off the knife. Kyle tried to throw Adam off with his legs, but the larger boy used his knees to pin Kyle down. He tightened his hold on Kyle’s wrist until he was forced to drop the knife. Kyle lunged up, teeth bared, and tried to bite at Adam’s neck. Adam peeled away and in a split second had buried Kyle’s knife between the smaller boy’s ribs.

“I’m so sorry it had to come to this,” Adam said, watching as Kyle spluttered blood. “But I have to protect what I care about.”

Kyle laughed, a wet, guttural sound. “You’re sick,” Adam continued. “You steal away our friends, _your friends_ , and you kill them. What did you do? Eat them?”

Kyle’s eyes widened, and he gasped before coughing up a large clot of blood. “Eat? Oh my Go—”

And with that, he died, wide eyes glassy. Stacy sobbed loudly in the background.

“It’s okay, baby,” Adam said, standing up and hugging her tightly. “I got him. We’re safe now.”

“I, I can’t,” she cried, burying her head into Adam’s shoulder.

“I know, babe,” he sighed, resting his head atop hers. “I know.”

That night, Adam and Stacy curled up in their tent, bone-tired and despondent.

“I just want all of this to be over,” Stacy said hoarsely. A flashback showed her screaming out sobs, hands shaky and covered in blood.

“Me, too,” Adam agreed, a flashback showing him throwing dirt over the camera lens.

They had buried Kyle, hidden the body.

“I never thought he could be so evil,” Stacy said. She pulled off her stiff, blood-crusted clothes with silent tears.

“They say it’s always the quiet ones,” Adam said, “but I never….”

“I know, Adam,” Stacy said. “I know.”

They tucked themselves into their sleeping bags. “I love you,” Adam said. “You know that, right?”

“Love you, too,” Stacy said, offering him a small smile.

“Then there’s something you should know,” Adam said reluctantly. “I lied, baby: Wendigos are real. I mean, they’re a real legend. A Wendigo is this, like, demonic creature-thing. It’s a human that eats so much human meat that it becomes something more, something evil. It cannibalizes until it’s no longer human.” 

“That’s disgusting!” Stacy said. “How do you even _know_ that?”

“I researched it,” Adam said off-handedly. “I think it’s kind of cool; it starts off ordinary, but it transforms itself, you know? Like a caterpillar.”

“… What?” Stacy asked, sitting up in her sleeping bag and turning to face her boyfriend.

“Yeah, babe,” said Adam, moving to sit opposite her. “Like into a butterfly. Something _more_. Something beautiful, something deadly. Did you know that some species of butterfly feast on carcasses?”

“Oh, Adam,” Stacy said, voice wavering as her eyes filled with tears, “please, don’t tell me—“

“They sacrificed themselves for me,” Adam cut her off, moving to grip her arms. His eyes took on a manic look. “They gave of themselves so that I could transform myself. Don’t you see?” 

“You killed our friends,” she spat, pulling herself out of his hold. “You killed Megan and Par—Oh my God, did you… did you eat them? Did you eat our friends? ANSWER ME!” She started punching at his chest, weak with sobs.

“Shh, baby,” said Adam, pulling her into a tight hug, pinning her arms to her chest. “I had to. I didn’t want to kill them, you know. Parker was best friend. My brother from another mother. Which is what made his death that much more important.”

“How could you?” Stacy cried, muffled by his t-shirt. “How could you eat human flesh like that?”

“Quite easily, actually. I mean, you enjoyed it, too.”

Stacy froze. “I what?”

“You enjoyed it. Or did you not like dinner?” Adam pulled back, concerned.

The film flashed back to Adam and a despondent Stacy, eating.

_“These steaks are really tender, Adam!” Stacy praised, smiling in spite of her tears._

_“Thanks, sweetie,” Adam said_. _He gave her a wide grin and cut off another piece of meat. “I try my best_.”

The film came back to the couple sitting in their tent.

“Oh, Jesus, no,” Stacy croaked. “I’m gonna puke.” She stood up and ran out of the tent, retching onto the roots of a tree.

“You okay, Stace?” Adam rubbed a hand over her back. “Did the food make you sick?”

“The _food?_ ” Stacy shrieked turning on her boyfriend. “You mean our _friends?_ ”

“Don’t be like that. They gave of themselves _for us_. Don’t you understand? Now we are stronger, better.”

 "What about Kyle?" Stacy questioned. "Were you just going to pin this all on him?"

"You're so smart, babe," Adam grinned, proud. "Kyle was the perfect red herring. He knew the woods, he knew the victims, and he'd always had a crush on Megan, you know that."

"Did you plan on killing him?"

"Not at first, no," Adam said, scratching behind his ear. "I was going to wait until we got back into town, then tell the police."

“Why did you bring me into this?” Stacy whispered, horrified, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I love you, babe,” Adam said, rushing forward to grasp her shoulders. “I didn’t want to do this without you. We can be butterflies _together._ ”

Stacy closed her eyes, silent tears leaking down her cheeks. When she opened them again, a steely resolve have taken them over. “I understand.”

“You do?” Adam said, tears of his own starting to bead in the corners of his eyes. “Oh, babe, I love you.” He pressed his mouth down onto hers.

Stacy pressed her eyes shut hard and withdrew a pocket knife from her jeans. Without so much as a pause, she slammed the blade into his neck.

Adam pulled back in shock. “What’re you?” he gasped, gingerly touching the knife still stuck into his neck. “Why did you?”

He fell to his knees, pressing on the wound with pale fingers. “But, we were going to become, Stacy… we were going to… become… butterflies.”

He fell in a slump, face pressed into the ground. Stacy sobbed loudly, covering her face with bloody hands. “I love you, Adam.”

The theatre went black and, a second later, the lights came up.

Will and Hannibal, as well as everyone else in the theater, sat in silence, stunned, until the credits started rolling.

“Oh,” said Will. “I… oh.” He looked over at Hannibal, who was surrounded by the popcorn he had spilt. He cracked a smile despite himself. “We should go.”

“I… what?” said Hannibal, flabbergasted.

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “Come on, we can talk about it in the car.”

“Alright,” Hannibal said, still in shock. “Let’s go.”

They walked out to Will’s car. Will ran a hand through his hair and caught a whiff of salt. “Hannibal, you smell like popcorn,” Will said, grinning.

“I suppose I do.” Hannibal returned Will’s grin. “Come, let’s go back to my house. I think I could use that drink after that movie.”

Will put the car in drive and started pulling out. “Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm really not sure about this horror movie business. I write fluff. Hopefully it's not too bad!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Yay!
> 
> In other news, Bryan Fuller at Comic Con was awesome, as was that teaser trailer of a gag reel. This was a big week for Fannibals.
> 
> I don't have any gifsets, but I do have some awesome [fanart from Tumblr user itomiix3](http://itomiix3.tumblr.com/post/53397892504/1-5-acrylic-on-canvas-45-72-cm-x-60-96-cm-18) that I'd like to share. I am just in love with this painting. Go appreciate it. Now.
> 
> Un-beta'd, as always.

They talked about the movie the whole way home. It wasn’t the best horror flick Will had ever seen, and it certainly was no classic in the making, but it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. Hannibal, who had seen far fewer movies than Will, simply loved it.

“But how on Earth could anyone believe that eating humans would _transform_ them?” Hannibal demanded as they were pulling into Hannibal’s driveway. “Humans are meat just like anything else.”

“I don’t know, Hannibal,” Will said, exasperated but amused. “It was just a plot device.”

Hannibal ignored him. “And this ‘butterfly’ nonsense. Most butterflies eat nectar, for crying out loud! This boy obviously underwent a mental break. Perhaps his success in life placed him on a pedestal that was uncomfortable to him. He needed to become something superhuman in order to meet the demands of his peers.”

Will looked at Hannibal. “I think you’re taking this a little bit too seriously,” he said bemusedly.

“… Perhaps,” Hannibal said gravely, and Will snorted.

“Come on,” he said, opening the car door. “Let’s have that drink.”

Hannibal escorted Will through the house and up the stairs to a heavy wooden door, which he opened to reveal a room lined with full bookcases.

“Oh, sorry about the mess,” Hannibal said, rushing to collect a small pile of papers on his otherwise spotless desk.

“If you think that’s a mess, you would hate my house,” Will joked, raking his eyes over the spotless room. He caught a glimpse of one of the papers and stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait, is that--?”

“It’s nothing,” Hannibal hurriedly reassured him.

“No, stop,” Will said, grabbing Hannibal arm to look at the paper. On it was a detailed pencil sketch of a man sitting at a table. A very familiar man. “Is this me?”

“No?” Hannibal replied weakly.

“It _is_ ,” Will said, awed. “This is me at Hal’s, isn’t it? Wow. This is… this is beautiful, Hannibal. But I’m not nearly this good looking, though.”

“That’s debatable,” Hannibal said, very carefully not looking at Will.

“Oh,” Will said, feeling a flush roll through his body. “Um. Maybe we should have that drink now?” He hoped that the burn of whiskey would clear his head a little, because he knew that this was about to be a very important conversation.

“Of course,” Hannibal said emotionlessly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Will blinked, confused. When had he said he was uncomfortable? Unless…

“No, wait,” he said, reaching for Hannibal’s arm for the second time that night. “Hannibal, I didn’t ask for the drink to change the subject.”

“Then why _did_ you ask for it?” Hannibal asked, still avoiding eye contact.

“Because,” Will huffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “because I’m not good at feelings, and this, this _thing_ we have, whatever it is, it’s driving me nuts. I’m in way over my head, here, Hannibal.”

Hannibal absorbed this silently before nodding his head definitively. “You’re right, we do need that drink. Have a seat.”

Will sat on an armchair and jiggled his leg nervously while Hannibal poured drinks into shining crystal tumblers. He wasn’t sure if he’d made the situation better or worse by explaining himself. Maybe he’d misinterpreted something somewhere? Will didn’t think he had—really, how else _could_ you take something like someone calling you beautiful—but, well, Hannibal was European, and maybe that made a difference?

“Highland Park scotch from the Islay islands, aged for eighteen years,” said Hannibal, offering Will a glass before sitting in the chair opposite Will’s. Will took a large, grateful swallow and coughed almost immediately.

“Definitely scotch,” he wheezed, sucking at the peat on his tongue.

Hannibal took a delicate sip, closing his eyes as if thoroughly enjoying the flavor. Unbidden, Will’s mind wondered what his face would look like while savoring something _else_ , and he cleared his throat to get the image out of his mind. It wasn’t helping the situation at _all_.

“What do you think we are?” Will asked Hannibal, rubbing absentmindedly at the fingerprints he was leaving on the tumbler.

“What do _you_ think we are?” Hannibal returned, sounding like the perfect psychiatrist.

“I asked you first,” Will pointed out, realizing belatedly how childish it sounded.

Nevertheless, Hannibal bowed his head in acquiescence. “I think we’re two grown men that enjoy each other’s company.”

Will looked at him sardonically. “Well, yeah,” he said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “That’s true.”

“I think we are both interested in each other sexually, but neither of us wants to disrupt the companionship of our current relationship to experiment with these feelings,” Hannibal continued, taking a casual sip of his drink. Will gasped and choked on spit, coughing loudly.

“That’s an abrupt way of putting it,” he said, finally getting his lungs under control. “So, you _are_ attracted to me?”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at Will. “Have we not been dating?”

“Have we?” Will asked, genuinely curious. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I wanted them to be dates, but we never really talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if you were interested or just really friendly, and I didn’t want to ask, and I’m babbling, so I’m going to shut up now.”

“Me with my feet, you with your words,” Hannibal observed, smirking. “How fortunate we understand each other.”

“Right,” Will said, though he wasn’t sure what he’d just agreed to. He downed another gulp of scotch, praying for the alcohol to just _kick in already_.

“Well, just so we’re clear: I’m interested,” Hannibal said, swirling his scotch.

Will’s face felt like it was on fire, and he wondered, vaguely, if it could get any redder. “I see that, now.”

“So that’s settled, then,” Hannibal commented, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Can I kiss you, now?”

“Yes,” Will said, before he could stop himself. Hannibal didn’t stand, but rather knelt and shuffled forward the foot or so he needed to be between Will’s knees.

“You are beautiful, you know,” Hannibal breathed, smelling faintly of scotch. “I didn’t even do you justice.”

Will surged forward and clashed his lips to Hannibal’s. Hannibal leaned in, putting his hands on the armrests of Will’s chair for support. Will felt light-headed; he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the kiss but, either way, he didn’t want it to stop. He opened his mouth just enough to suckle on Hannibal’s upper lip, the one that curled so beautifully when he talked, and Hannibal surged to life. Will found himself being dragged forward by his knees until he was perched on the edge of his chair, and Hannibal was pressed firmly to his front.

One of Hannibal’s hands wound in Will’s curls, tugging just hard enough to make Will gasp. The other remained on Will’s knee, caressing the joint through the denim. Will wasn’t sure how knee caressing could feel so good, but he didn’t rightly care, as Hannibal’s tongue had found its way into his mouth, which was far more important. Will smoothed his hands up the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket— _my, what a firm chest you have,_ Will thought—and around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of Hannibal’s hair. He sucked on Hannibal’s tongue, a promise of things to come, and Hannibal rolled his body into Will’s.

Will felt Hannibal’s hips meet the hardness in his lap (and really, an erection from kissing? What was he, fourteen?), and it shocked him into breaking away. “Whoa,” he said, much dizzier now that he wasn’t focusing on how delicious Hannibal tasted. “That was…”

“Fantastic.” Hannibal’s voice was rough with desire. It made Will want to lick into his throat to kiss it better. But he couldn’t, not now, when they barely knew each other… could he?

“But entirely inappropriate,” Hannibal finished, sitting back on his haunches. He looked debauched, lips bitten cherry red and normally gelled hair thrown askew. Had Will done that? Wait, what did Hannibal say?

“What?” Will said, blinking to clear his head. “No, I thought we just clarified how that was _completely_ appropriate.”

“Kissing, yes,” Hannibal conceded, running a hand through his hair to push it out of it eyes. Will immediately wanted to ruffle it again. “But you deserve better than a quick fumble in the dark.”

“I don’t know, sounds alright to me,” Will said before he could stop himself. Hannibal raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, and Will rubbed at his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “Sorry, sorry. It’s been a while. But you’re right: we should wait. We’re not teenagers.”

“Though I still walk like one,” Hannibal joked lightly. Will realized that this was his way of telling Will that he wasn’t really upset, which the younger man appreciated.

“I think I’m going to go home, now,” he said, tapping his fingers on his knees. Hannibal stood and refilled his tumbler.

“It is over an hour’s drive back to Wolf Trap, Will, and it is already late. I have a guest room that you can sleep in." 

“I don’t want to impose,” Will objected, but he already felt his limbs weighting with fatigue. That, combined with the overwhelming desire to sleep at Hannibal’s house, made him offer his tumbler to the psychiatrist. “But thank you." 

“It is no trouble. I must admit, I am anxious to cook for you again.” Hannibal shot him a conspiratorial smirk.

Strange, how that felt even more intimate than had Hannibal’s groin on his erection. Will found himself accepting the refilled glass with a matching smile. “And I can’t wait to taste it.”

“I’m sure,” Hannibal purred. Will’s eyes widened, heat shooting down his body as he choked on his drink. Hannibal seemed to realize what he’d said, for he stiffened in his seat and blushed darkly.

“So, that movie, huh?” Will asked feebly. Hannibal grinned into his scotch.

“I must confess, it’s not something I imagined you picking for a third date, whether you saw it as one or not,” he said. “Unless this is your way of asking if I’m about to slaughter you and make you into soup.”

“Well, you _did_ just invite me to spend the night,” Will reminded him, chuckling.

“Mild-mannered psychiatrist by day, raging cannibal by night?” Hannibal asked, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

“It’d make a far better movie than the one we just saw,” Will said. Then a thought struck him and he burst into laughter.

“What?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just,” Will fought the urge to laugh again, “Hannibal? The cannibal?”

Hannibal hung his head, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. “You did not just say that.”

“It’s perfect!” Will crowed gleefully.

“No,” Hannibal said, lifting his head to meet Will’s eyes, “no. I cannot live the rest of my life hearing my name and thinking ‘Cannibal.’”

“Alright,” Will said. “No more cannibalism jokes, promise. But yeah, no, that movie was kind of horrible.”

“Thank you, and I whole-heartedly agree.”

“We’ll just have to come up with better date ideas,” Will suggested, warming up at the thought. They were _dating_.

Hannibal smiled softly. “I’d like that.”

They went to bed a few minutes later, too tired to keep up on the conversation. Hannibal showed Will the guest room, which was just as gorgeous as the rest of the house, and the adjacent bathroom before bidding him goodnight.

“I’m just there,” he said, pointing to the set of double doors at the end of the hallway, “so let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Hey, hold on.” He grabbed Hannibal by the wrist and pulled him in for a short, sweet kiss. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Any time,” Hannibal said dazedly. “Any time at all.” He scratched at his neck for a moment, lost in thought, then nodded once to Will and retreated to his room.

“Oh, and Hannibal?”

“Yes?” The psychiatrist turned around quickly, losing his center of balance and stumbling slightly on his feet.

Will bit his lip. “You still smell like popcorn.” 

Hannibal grinned. “Nice of you to notice.” And with that, he walked into his bedroom and closed the doors.

Will grinned and closed his own door, leaning against it with a sigh. Yet again, Hannibal had completely bested Will wide array of expectations. He was adorable at the movie, he was a perfect gentleman the entire night, and _that kiss_.

Will clenched his eyes, reminding himself how very _wrong_ it would be to jack off in someone else’s home when they invited you to spend the night. Very, _very_ wrong. 

He distracted himself by examining Hannibal’s guest room. Set in dark navy and pale gold, the room felt like the night sky. The bed was done up in a similar blue with darker gold, and it held more pillows than Will _owned_. Opposite the bed stood a long, short dresser that doubled as a vanity. Will took in his flushed face and rumpled shirt collar with a short laugh. If Hannibal had looked debauched, then Will looked positively ravished.

Ravished by Hannibal. If Will were a teenaged girl, he might have jumped on the spot; he wasn’t, however, so he settled for bouncing on the balls of his feet. In a manly, dignified fashion, of course.

Will couldn’t even deny it to himself: he was acting like a lovesick teenager, all because of a clumsy psychiatrist that somehow reminded him of a Great Dane puppy learning how to use its massive paws. Will thought back to his very first conversation with Hannibal, in which they discussed how Will liked to take in strays.  _“I’m sure your dogs appreciate it just as much as I do,_ ” Hannibal had said.

But Hannibal wasn’t some heavily malnourished mutt Will had found by the side of the road. Hannibal was… more than that. Hannibal was some kind of treasure that Will just happened to stumble upon (though Will could very much argue that Hannibal _stumbled_ upon him). He was a diamond hidden in a mass of coals, just waiting for the right person to dig him out and make him shine. Will could only hope that he was the right man for the job.

Will took off his button-down and his jeans and folded them carefully atop the dresser. Normally, he would just throw everything into a pile on the floor, but he wanted to look halfway presentable tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning. Will wondered just how awkward that would be. How does one converse with the man that kissed the hell out of him, and then allowed him to sleep in the guest room overnight? Was there protocol for this sort of thing? Will doubted it.

Luckily, his nerves helped his erection wane. Will turned off the lights, tucked himself into Hannibal’s ridiculously comfortable guest bed, and closed his eyes, praying to every deity he’d ever heard of that he wouldn’t mess up tomorrow too badly. 

The next morning, Will awoke drowsily, teetering somewhere between getting up to feed his dogs and curling deeper into his plush, cozy bed. He pulled the silken sheets up over his shoulder, intent on getting another hour of sleep, before he froze.

His sheets weren’t silken; they were flannel. And his bed wasn’t this soft. Where was he?

In a rush, all of the events of yesterday poured themselves into Will’s mind: the somewhat horrible movie, the bitter taste of scotch, spending the night at Hannibal’s house, _Hannibal kissing him_. Will sat up straight in bed, a hopeful smile working its way across his face. Hannibal had kissed him. They had kissed.

And they had kissed a lot, too. An image of Hannibal on his knees, eyes black with lust, flashed through his mind, and Will had to stifle a groan. Now was not the time for those thoughts. He would get dressed, go downstairs, thank Hannibal for allowing him to spend the night, and go home. There, he could imagine Hannibal any way he wanted to.

Will heard the crackle of something cooking downstairs, and seconds later the smell of ham wound its way into the guest room. Will bit his lip. Okay, maybe he could stay for breakfast.

Will pulled on his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could, and headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. As he washed his hands, he ran wet fingers through his curls to tame them into some kind of order before he went downstairs.

He found Hannibal working in a long paisley dressing gown, whisking something in a stainless steel bowl. His hair was brushed but ungelled and hung over his brow neatly. Will wondered why he didn’t wear it that way all the time; it was exceptionally attractive.

“Good morning,” he said, clearing his throat when the words came out like gravel.

Hannibal looked up and smiled widely. “Good morning! I hope you slept well?”

“Yeah, I did,” Will said, not realizing how true the words were until they’d already left his mouth. But he had slept very well, better than he had in months. “I’m not sure if it was exhaustion, or if your bed is just that comfortable, but I slept like a log.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Hannibal said, pouring the liquid into a saucepan. “This will be a few minutes, I’m afraid. There’s coffee on the island, and you’re welcome to look around the house while you wait.”

Will immediately stood to make himself a cup of coffee. “If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll stay here. I like watching you cook.”

Hannibal threw a glance over at Will. “You do?”

“Mmhmm,” Will replied. “You’re very good at it. It’s sexy.”

Hannibal jerked and dropped his whisk. Flushing, he picked it up and rinsed it off in the sink. “Ah. I see.” 

Will hid his grin in his coffee cup. He didn’t know where those words had come from, but Hannibal’s reaction to them was well worth it.

“Perhaps you can invite me to your shed sometime, so that I may see you do what you’re good at?” Hannibal suggested, plating eggs on top of ham and pouring the sauce over it. He was making Eggs Benedict, Will realized.

“Sure, next time you’re free you’re welcome to come up,” Will offered, watching Hannibal place springs of parsley just so on the plates.

“Today is Saturday,” Hannibal pointed out. “I work Mondays through Fridays.”

“Oh,” said Will stupidly, “Then today, I guess.” _STOP_ , his brain shrieked at him. _You haven’t cleaned anything! And you’ve left the dogs alone for a long time, so you know there will be a mess! Why did you do that?_

But it was too late. Hannibal grinned, and Will must have imagined the devilish gleam in his eye.

“Good. I’m interested to see you elbows-deep in grease. Very, very much so.”

Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughh yes Hannigram action. FINALLY, right? :P
> 
> Next chapter: Hannibal fingers an intake valve and Will makes some bad anatomy metaphors. Stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I've decided to post this chapter a day early because my friend Megan (you may know her as backwards-blackbird, the beta reader of Hannibal the Handyman and its spin-off oneshot Pocket Squares and Sweet Surrender) is sleeping over and I wanted to celebrate! So, if you have a Tumblr or something, pop on over on anon and extol her virtues a bit for motivating me to proofread this puppy sooner.
> 
> Further reason to follow my writing blog (link is in the author's note of Chapter 4): I have decided to completely type out my headcanon for Hannibal's character. This will include a brief summary of his childhood and formative years, an explanation of how those impacted his development, an overall look at his psychosis, and how this affects his interactions with friends, colleagues, patients, and lovers. And, you know, the rude people he brutally murders and eats. :)
> 
> Well, this got long. Onto the reading!

They decided to drive both cars up to Wolf Trap. Will needed to stay home to spend time with his dogs; he rarely spent more than an evening away from them, and they most likely were desperate for his attention. Also, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being around Hannibal for much longer without ripping his own clothes off and offering himself up like some sacrificial virgin.

Thankfully, Will’s house looked decent from the outside. He hadn’t cut his grass in a few days, but it didn’t look too unruly. The dogs were, as he’d expected, beyond happy to see him come home.

Hannibal, Will found out, was quite the dog person. Despite being in a suit that most likely cost more than Will made in a month, he bent down and greeted each dog as it came to him. It gave Will the opportunity to sneak into his living room to make sure everything looked relatively tidy.

“No messes?” Will whispered disbelievingly. “I was gone that long and no messes? Oh, you guys are _so_ getting treats.”

Hannibal came up behind him. “You have quite the collection of pets.”

“I have problems saying ‘no’ to creatures in need,” Will said, grinning dryly. “And, honestly, once you get past three, you barely notice the difference.”

“And meanwhile, you offer these lives something they very desperately needed: a home.” 

Will wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and the resulting silence grew heavy.

“To the shed?” Hannibal asked.

“Right, yes,” Will blustered, gesturing in a way that he hoped was inviting toward the back door. “This way.”

The shed was technically big enough to be called a barn, but Will had always felt that barns should be filled with tractors and bags of livestock feed, not dried puddles of pond water and enough broken fishhooks to scare a whale. The word ‘shed’ carried with it a stigma of hobby doing and general usefulness that suited Will’s purpose much better.

Hannibal entered the small building carefully, as if purposefully trying not to trip over anything. Will watched Hannibal and quirked his lips, grateful for Hannibal’s delicacy even if it was thoroughly unwarranted. Will _lived_ between these walls; they could handle a fall or two.

But, then again, Hannibal’s suit probably couldn’t. Will hurried forward to move a particularly oily bit of machinery out of Hannibal’s way. “You might want to watch your sleeves.”

“This is amazing,” Hannibal breathed in lieu of a reply. For the first time since they’d entered the shed, Will looked at Hannibal’s face. What he saw there made his gut clench.

Hannibal’s face _shone_ with awe. His eyes were bright with it, gleaming over engine parts and greasy, well-worn tools. His lips curled in a way that couldn’t quite be called a smile, but spoke strongly of appreciation and wonder.

“Is it?” Will asked faintly. “S’just a bunch of stuff.”

“Oh, yes.” Hannibal turned those spotlight eyes on Will and the mechanic felt exposed and vulnerable under their blinding heat. “This is your life’s work, and it is amazing.”

“I could teach you,” Will found himself offering. “You’re a surgeon, right? This can’t be that different. Bet you’d pick it up in an hour or so.”

Hannibal’s eyes left his, scanning over the walls, and Will felt himself relax instantly. A silent moment later, he began tensing up again. Had he done wrong by offering to teach Hannibal his craft? Maybe Hannibal was trying to figure out how to decline. Oh, no, this was awkward.

“I would like that very much,” Hannibal said finally, “but I’m afraid I only have this suit.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” Will said, relief spilling into his words. “I have clothes you can wear. If you’d like, of course.”

Hannibal examined Will’s face, expression unreadable. “Alright.”

Will led him back into the house and ran upstairs to rummage through his wardrobe. Hannibal was just slightly broader than him, so Will had to find something that usually fit him loosely. A few minutes later, he’d picked out an outfit, and he raced back downstairs to give it to Hannibal, who went into Will’s bathroom to get changed. 

It took longer than Will had expected for Hannibal to change, but the end result was definitely worth the wait. Hannibal came out looking slightly uncomfortable, tugging carefully at the charcoal Henley Will had chosen. Will’s jaw dropped.

“It’s a bit tight,” Hannibal said, tugging at the hem.

“Oh, no, it’s not,” Will sighed without realizing it. The shirt stretched over Hannibal’s chest tightly, emphasizing the width of his shoulders, and tapered down his waist like it was meant for Hannibal’s body. Will’s jeans, the faded ones that he only wore when he had eaten too much Chinese takeout the previous night, clung to Hannibal’s hips and grazed down over his legs. They were a hair short, Will noticed, but _damn_ if he didn’t care.

“You know, _I’m_ supposed to be the sexy one, in this situation,” Will griped, turning to lead Hannibal back to the shed. “You get the sleek, suave, European sexy, and I get the scruffy, dirty, woodsman-y sexy. This really isn’t fair.”

“Oh, I think you’ve got your half down perfectly,” Hannibal said from behind him. Will glanced over his shoulder and saw Hannibal’s eyes dart up from where they were examining his backside.

Will snorted. “Whatever you say, Casanova.”

Hannibal ended up being an even better student than Will had thought he’d be. The sleeves of Will’s Henley ended up pushed up around Hannibal’s elbows, as his forearms were covered in motor oil in a matter of minutes.

“So this is the inlet manifold, which pushes fuel through the system. It’s kind of like the aorta; it branches off into several smaller tubes, which supply the cylinders with a combination of fuel and air. The cylinders are the lungs, I guess, because the displacement of the air caused by piston movement pushes the fuel into the engine, which is the heart, which makes everything work. Does that make sense?”

“Your anatomy needs brushing up,” Hannibal grinned, fingers following along the parts of the motor as Will explained them, “but yes, it does. You’re a good teacher, Will.”

“Well, I _do_ do this for a living,” Will responded dryly. “It’d be a shame if I couldn’t talk my way through my own livelihood.”

Hannibal laughed. “Touché.”

They spent another two hours in the shed. Will taught Hannibal how to make lures, and the psychiatrist was so fascinated by them that Will boxed up a small collection of supplies for Hannibal to take home. He hesitated over packing a box of bandages in there, too, before he remembered that Hannibal was a doctor and most likely had an extensive first aid kit at home. (He threw in a strip of bandages anyway.)

Before too long, the sun was beginning to set. “We spent the entire day in here?” Will asked disbelievingly at the sky.

“Apparently so,” Hannibal replied, unsuccessfully trying to rub a grease stain out of his shirt. “Also, I think I owe you a shirt.”

“Hmm?” Will turned just in time to see Hannibal ruck the shirt up around his waist to scrub at the stain harder. Will’s eyes trailed down to the exposed patch of skin above the waistline of Hannibal’s jeans ( _Will’s_ jeans) and stuck there. “Oh. That’s fine. I don’t mind.” It was his favorite shirt. At least it died a good death.

“Well, I had best be getting home,” Hannibal said, giving up on the stain.

“Right, yes, indeed,” Will stammered, leading Hannibal into the house to wash up. He opened a jar of Goop, every mechanic’s favorite soapless cleanser, and dropped a dollop into Hannibal’s blackened hands. “Cuts right through grease.”

They washed their hands clean and Hannibal retreated back into Will’s bathroom to change back into his suit. He came out looking and crisp as ever, save for the faint smudges of black under his fingernails. “Well, thank you for today,” Hannibal said, sounding stiffly formal. “It was very educational.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” Will said. “It was fun. Let me show you to your car.”

Hannibal’s black Bentley glittered in the warm sunset. “When can I see you again?” Hannibal asked, resting his hip against the driver’s window.

“Oh,” Will said stupidly. “Um, I have no idea. I have a few big repairs coming in tomorrow and I expect to be busy with that for a couple days.

“I see,” Hannibal replied, rubbing a thumb over his jaw.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” Will hurried to say, feeling a hot rush of embarrassment tingle down his spine. “If you want. Or, you know…” He scratched his Adam’s apple, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Okay,” Hannibal said gently, stepping into Will’s space. “I can do that.” He searched Will’s eyes for a moment and leaned in to kiss him.

Will angled his head, shuffling forward to press his chest against Hannibal’s. He opened his mouth just the tiniest bit, inhaling when Hannibal’s tongue swept through his mouth. His head swirled with sensation, hands coming up to grasp Hannibal’s neck. He traced a line under Hannibal’s bottom lip, scraping his teeth over the meat of it lightly. Hannibal clutched at his hips hard and, a moment later, disappeared. Will opened his eyes, feeling suddenly bereft, and watched Hannibal climb into his car

“See you then,” Hannibal promised, shutting his car door on his jacket. He opened the car door, tugged his jacket free, and shut it again, smiling hastily at Will and pulling out of the driveway before Will could even respond.

“Whaa?” Will asked thin air, watching Hannibal’s car peel away. “What?”

He followed Hannibal’s taillights until the crested a hill, fading out of sight. Will, still utterly bewildered, walked back into his house and sat on his couch, petting his dogs absent-mindedly as they rushed to lick his fingers.

He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but damn if he didn’t want it to happen again. The kissing bit, not the hurried departure afterward. Yeah, the kissing bit could _definitely_ happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt super long to me, mostly because I had to spend over an hour trying to understand the first thing about boat motors. Apparently mechanics don't think it necessary to create a "Motors for Beginners: What, exactly, is a carburetor?" website, or any sort of guide. Even the Wikipedia was laden with jargon. Bleh.
> 
> Special secret that only people who read my notes will ever get: the reason Hannibal was so formal was because he was trying to scrub out the stain using soap and water, and it didn't work. Luckily Will knows a thing or two about removing grease stains ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wow," you say, "that was a fast update!" Ah, but that's the way of it now. Seriously, I'm booking through the rest of this story, so expect a chapter every couple days. Woohoo!
> 
> Not only do I have [a great picture](http://themurderfamilybusiness.tumblr.com/post/56537615334/everynineyearsandthirtyfourdays-hannibal-lecter) for you guys this chapter, but it's also relevant TO the chapter! How awesome is that? ("Pretty awesome," you say.)
> 
> This chapter (and, to be honest, a majority of the rest of this story) is heavy on the Will/Beverly broTP. I sincerely love (LOVE) the female characters on this show, and I've been remiss in not including them in my stories so far.

When Will opened his home to Hannibal, he hadn’t expected him to take the offer quite so literally. The psychiatrist showed up at his door no less than four times over the following week alone, bringing bundles of food and a promise to keep to himself while Will worked.

The first time Hannibal had shown up at his door wearing what looked like designer jeans with his standard button-down, Will had been flabbergasted and more than a little turned on. Will’s jeans had highlighted Hannibal’s body out of sheer tightness; these draped purposefully over Hannibal’s muscles, sexy in the same way that lingerie is sexier than nudity. These jeans _suggested_.

“I, erm, I thought it would be best if I wore something more functional,” Hannibal had explained, “so I bought some clothes.”

“Come inside,” Will had said, enunciating his words so heavily that he managed to imply innuendo where he’d meant none. They had both flushed red, making small talk to compensate for the tension Will had inadvertently caused.

Other than that, however, conversation flowed easily between the two men. Hannibal actually managed to help a little, passing Will tools when he needed them and running for refreshments when the summer heat grew oppressive. Most of the time, though, the men worked in companionable silence. 

Hannibal brought his box of lure materials to the shed on his second visit, and he often set up next to Will, crafting one lure after the next while Will methodically worked through his repairs. Eventually, the men would retire into the house and Hannibal would unveil whatever culinary delight he’d brought for dinner that night.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” Will asked over whitefish in a tangy white wine sauce, three weeks after he’d first brought Hannibal to Wolf Trap.

“I’m attending an event with a colleague. Why do you ask?” Hannibal returned, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

“Oh,” Will said, trying not to feel too put out. “A friend invited me to some sort of soiree, and I thought you might be my plus-one. Never mind.”

“Oh,” Hannibal echoed, sounding deeply regretful. “If I could, I would—”

“It’s fine,” Will interrupted, smiling to reassure him that he was being sincere. “I just thought you would enjoy it, that’s all.”

“I’m sure I would have,” Hannibal lamented. “So, did that man ever tell you how his recoil starter broke?”

“No!” Will exclaimed. “And I asked him twice! He claims he lent the boat to a friend, but you can just tell he’s lying, you know? How weird is that?”

“Very.”

And so their evenings passed, lingering over dinner to talk, standing side-by-side to wash dishes, and curling up on Will’s couch until the late hour drew Hannibal back to Baltimore. They’d grown affectionate with each other, too; bumping hips over a soapy sink and brushing hands whenever possible.

The best (or worst, depending on how you looked at it) moments were those spent on Will’s sofa, when the conversation would dwindle into lazy kisses and explorative touches that always ended before Will wanted them to. Kissing Hannibal felt like a revelation: an explosion of new and astounding resting delicately on a bed of familiar. And when Hannibal’s hand slithered just so under the hem of Will’s shirt?

Well, that was its own brand of philosophy.

Will didn’t mind the slow, hot tension that began to build between them. Well, he _did_ mind it, especially when his body got so sensitive that he needed to excuse himself to slap cold water on his face just to cool down, but he didn’t mind the waiting. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting _for_ , necessarily, or why Hannibal always left before the going got good, but he didn’t mind either way.

He really liked the relationship he had with Hannibal, perhaps _because_ they had yet to consummate it. It felt sweet, innocent in a way that relationships between adults seemed to lack. Will and Hannibal _enjoyed_ each other, not because of sex, not because of ardor, but because they actually found each other completely interesting. They had similarities that cemented their friendship, and they had differences that kept it alive. They respected each other enough to debate things like whether the allegories in _The Great Gatsby_ made up for its terrible excuse of a plot, or if Nietzsche was right to fear post-modern humanity.

Whatever was brewing between them, Will absolutely reveled in it. Everyone around him could see how much happier he had become. Forget whistling while he worked: his entire personality had changed. Customers now hung around the shed, content to chat with him if the repair was minor to warrant them waiting. Employees at the local supermarket greeted him warmly and pointed out which produce was the freshest, which was important considering he had a food connoisseur at his house every few days.

But the person most pleased with Will’s transformation was Beverly. Friday evening, the night before the party she’d invited him to, she showed up at his house with a six-pack and a duffel bag. “We’re having a sleepover,” she declared, dropping her duffel just inside the door.

“Oh?” said Will, who was in the process of brushing his dogs’ fur. It was something he’d done every week since he found a tick on Maisie’s flank. “And why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t seen you in, like, three weeks, dude,” she said, plopping onto his sofa and raising an arm so Rufus could rest his head on her lap. “And meanwhile you’ve got a plus-one that you want to bring to the bureau’s annual ball, which is, by the way, impossible, considering you’re _my_ plus-one. So what gives?”

“I’m sorry, Bev,” Will said, and he meant it. He’d completely neglected their friendship; he was so caught up in his romance with Hannibal. “I’ve been a shitty friend.”

“Nah,” Bev replied, cracking open a beer and handing it over to Will. “Just an absent one. So tell me, what’s he like?”

“He’s… he’s amazing, Bev,” Will replied, turning to smile softly at her. “He’s smart, and funny in that dry sort of way that you have to pay attention to, and classy, and clumsy as hell. He’s…” he sighed deeply, trying to think of the right word, “he’s just great.”

“Whoa,” Beverly said, putting her beer on the coffee table and leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Will, you really care for this guy. Like, this is _serious_.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Will retorted, pausing as he realized the impact of her words. “Oh… um, yeah, I guess it is.”

“Like, four-letter word serious?”

“I… yeah, Bev,” said Will, feeling like a Rubik’s cube twisting to completion. “Yeah, it is.”

“Wow.” Beverly leaned back against the sofa, looking as shell-shocked as Will felt. “Congrats. I mean, seriously, if anyone deserves this, it’s you.” 

“Thanks.” Will felt a surge of deep affection surge through his body. “I really missed you.”

“Mutual,” Bev grunted, not one for sappy moments. “So, rom-com or action flick?”

“Depends,” Will said, finishing up on Winston and heaving himself to his feet. “What’d you bring?” 

“Let me see,” Beverly rooted through her bag. “I’ve got _50 First Dates_ , _Drive Angry_ , _Troy_ , and some movie called _En Kort En Lang_.”

“What’s that one about?” Will asked. “Shout it at me, I’m making popcorn.”

“I dunno,” Beverly replied. “It’s some foreign film Alana recommended. Said it would remind me of someone we work with.” She sounded very much like she wasn’t interested in watching it.

“Well, _Drive Angry_ ’s that Nicholas Cage one, right?” Will popped his head into the living room.

“Yeah,” Bev snorted. “He’s a ghost brought back to Earth to save his granddaughter from a Satanic cult.”

“That one,” Will decided, grinning. “I could use a laugh.”

The movie was just as bad as Beverly made it sound. She and Will heckled the characters continuously, throwing popcorn at the screen and booing when Nic Cage’s character simultaneously had sex with a prostitute and shot four enemies to death.

At some point, Beverly pulled out bottles nail polish and wiggled them in Will’s face. “No!” Will turned his head away, laughing. “I will not paint your toes. I am not a girlfriend!”

“Please?” Beverly cajoled, drawing the word out. “You do them better than me, and my shoes are toeless. _Please_?”

“What do I get out of this deal?” Will demanded, already accepting the bottles. “You get the degradation of my masculinity and finely painted toes. What do I get in return?”

“The love of your favoritest person in the whole wide world?” Beverly tried. Will scoffed, shooting her a look. “Okay, _fine_ , I’ll order and pay for pizza.”

“No mushrooms.”

“You drive a hard bargain, amigo,” Beverly groaned, pinching Will’s side. “Fine, no mushrooms. You suck.”

“I rule,” said Will, laying one of Beverly’s feet in his lap so he could start painting. “Now stay still, the master’s at work.”

Beverly laughed, pulling out her phone to order pizza. “Thank God for online ordering.”

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Beverly leapt up to answer it. “Pizza!”

“Pizza,” said the delivery man, sounding decidedly less excited. “Large double bacon, extra cheese, garlic crust?” 

“It’s like you’re reading the Bible aloud,” Beverly replied.

“Hallelujah. That’ll be sixteen even.”

Beverly handed him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

“Awesome,” said the delivery man, finally showing some emotion. “Hey, is that _Drive Angry_?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Nice,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “See you later.” 

“Bye!” 

Will shook his head as she returned to the table and put the pizza box on the table. “Only you can charm a pizza delivery man.”

“Like an eighties porno, sugar,” she replied, opening the box and closing her eyes in bliss. “Bacon.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s me or the cheap pizza that keeps you coming to Wolf Trap,” Will retorted, fetching paper plates.

“Are they mutually exclusive?” Beverly asked, her mouth already full of cheese and bacon.

“I guess not,” Will sighed. “Just try not to get crumbs all over the floor? Last time, Lucy was pawing at the couch for days.” 

“Not my fault you don’t clean,” Beverly pointed out, sucking garlic butter off her thumb.

“Fuck you,” said Will, taking his first bite of pizza. “Fuck you and your glorious pizza straight to Hell.”

“That’s more like it.” Beverly grinned.

Will grinned back. He really had missed his best friend. “You’re sleeping over, I take it?” 

“You should have been an FBI investigator yourself, observational skills like that,” Beverly said, looking pointedly at her duffel bag.

“I’m a regular gumshoe,” Will agreed, pulling at a string of cheese until it broke free and slurping it into his mouth with gleeful relish.

A while later, the movie ended, and Beverly stretched. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“Ditto,” Will yawned. “Let me put the leftovers in the fridge and we can go to bed.”

Beverly followed him into the kitchen and surprised him with a bear hug. “I really am happy for you, you know,” she murmured into his ear, squeezing his ribs. “Even if I _am_ green with envy. How come you get a knight in shining armor and I get the lackluster companionship of the Zeller/Price bromance?”

“A knight in shining armor?” Will tilted his head so he could rest his chin atop Beverly’s head. “That implies that I’m the damsel in distress. I don’t need saving, Bev.”

“I know,” she replied, pulling back to peer into his eyes. “But I think you got saved, anyway.”

A heady surge of love and affection bloomed out from Will’s chest, and he hugged Bev tightly. “I think you’re right. What did I do to deserve such an awesome friend?” 

Bev shrugged under the weight of Will’s arms. “Probably the same way I ended up becoming besties with a glorious hunk of a boat mechanic that plays for the wrong team. You win some, you lose some.”

Will laughed, the poignant mood gone. He moved away to pour himself a glass of water. “I’ll let Hannibal know you said that. Got to remind him he’s lucky, and all that.”

“His name’s Hannibal?” Beverly asked, her tone unreadable.

“Yeah, weird, right?” Will said, gulping down the water. He knew his body, and three beers were just enough to require drinking water before bed. “Don’t worry, I don’t think he’ll be herding elephants through Baltimore anytime soon.”

“Good, I was worried,” Bev replied sarcastically. “So maybe less of a knight in shining armor, more of a conqueror, hmm?”

Will choked on his water. “What does that make me?”

Bev patted his ass and turned to walk to her room. “I think you already know that answer, sweetums. Goodnight!” 

“’Night,” Will croaked. He finished his drink and made his way to bed, turning off the lights and throwing away the empty pizza box. 

Much as he’s like to deny it, Beverly was right. Will was well and truly conquered.

Funny, but he didn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You haven't been conquered yet, sweet cheeks! ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Alas, this is another Hannigram-less chapter. I'm sorry to those who are disappointed, but I just love the Will/Bev brotp too much. Next chapter, you guys get some fluffy sappy Hannigram action, cool?
> 
> In more personal news: I got stung by a bee for the first time in over a decade, and I now have a four-inch welt on my thigh. How fun is that?
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the amazing Fannibals I got to meet at a local meetup. It was awesome. You guys know who you are, and you know why this is dedicated to you. :)

The next morning, Will awoke to Beverly hollering (because singing really didn’t describe what Will was hearing) “Jessie’s Girl” at the top of her lungs. Will tugged his pillow from beneath his head and pressed it into his face, trying desperately to cling to the vestiges of his dream. Hannibal had made some sort of white chocolate mango mousse and was hand feeding it to Will, and after each spoonful he would kiss Will, as if hunting for the flavor of mousse in the forest of Will’s taste buds.

Looking back on it, it should have felt erotic. It _did_ feel erotic, now that Will was inhaling through a barrier of flannel and goose down. But it didn’t in the dream; it felt peaceful, somehow—happy and quiet, the touch of two people that enjoyed the frisson of passion without feeling the need to succumb to it—and, honestly, it was the most content Will had felt in a very long time. He was content to eat from Hannibal’s spoon. He was content to return the favor by offering his tongue up for Hannibal’s consumption.

He was content to take from Hannibal, and he was greedy in his desire to give back. 

That lurching realization, combined with Beverly reaching a warbling crescendo in her song, forced Will to swing his legs over the bed and surrender his dream to the new day. He found Beverly frying eggs in the kitchen, using the spatula as a makeshift microphone. She stopped as soon as she noticed his presence. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Have you ever considered that the reason you don’t have a boyfriend is because you’re lusting after a taken woman? And who is this ‘Jessie?’ Should I be jealous?” Will poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a large sip before adding his standard two sugars. He needed the caffeine.

“Shut up, Aurora,” Bev replied, swatting him with her free hand. “You love my Springfield and you can’t even try to deny it.”

“Should I even ask why you’ve taken to referring to me in Disney princess terms?”

“Mm,” said Bev, considering. “Might have something to do with the whole talking in your sleep thing. You know, ‘I never thought chocolate and mango would combine that way,’ and ‘You’re just saying that to get another taste.’ Taste of what, exactly, William?” She raised her eyebrow at him, biting her lips to keep from laughing.

“I didn’t,” Will whispered, mortified. 

“You _so_ did,” Beverly said smugly. “You’re lucky that I have such high respect for you that I didn’t take video on my phone.”

“You _didn’t_.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bev reassured him, grinning. “Didn’t have my phone with me. But, for future blackmail reference, what was happening?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Will said, ignoring Bev’s defiant snort. “If you must know, Hannibal was, um, feeding me mousse. White chocolate mango mousse.”

“Yeah, I got that bit,” Beverly sighed. “And?”

“And… _andhekissedmeandlickedthemousseoutofmymouth_.”

“He _what?_ ” Beverly gasped. “You’re kidding.”

“Shut up.” Will blushed, turning to open the fridge to hide his face in it.

“You _are_ a fucking Disney princess,” Bev breathed. “Are you serious? You’re a thirty-seven-year-old man, William.”

“And?” Will shot back, suddenly defensive. “So what? Who cares if that’s my secret fantasy? Is that so bad, Beverly, sharing something with someone so intimately? Isn’t that the _point_ of love?” 

“Yes, it is,” said Beverly, looking dazed for a moment, then biting her lip to keep from beaming. Will felt suddenly as if he’d been duped, somehow. “That is _exactly_ the point of love.”

A bolt of shock exploded inside Will, and he fumbled to avoid dropping his mug. “I—what?”

“You need to stop getting embarrassed about being happy, Will,” Bev lectured, dishing the eggs out of the pan and plating them carefully. “Every time I ask you about H-Hannibal,” she brushed her hair out of her eyes, and Will knew instantly that she was hiding something, “you get all shy and awkward. Like, you don’t think it’s right to have fantasies. Like you don’t deserve them. You should stop, because you do deserve them. Even if they belong in the margins of a high school notebook. I’m sorry I teased you about them; that was wrong of me.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” said Will without heat, taking his plate and shoveling eggs into his mouth to avoid the bubbling emotion perched behind his sternum. “Fuck you and you delicious eggs.”

“They’re no white chocolate mango mousse, but they’ll do.” 

Will barked out a laugh. “So is there a plan for today, or do you plan to spend all day preparing for the FBI prom?”

“If Crawford heard you calling the annual ball ‘prom,’ he kick your ass so hard you’d taste shoe polish. I was thinking, maybe, you’d take me fishing… maybe?”

“Fishing?” Will questioned, washing down a bite of egg with a slurp of coffee. “Really? I thought you _hated_ fishing?”

“Sometimes,” Beverly conceded, eating the last of her breakfast and tossing the dishes in the sink. “Most times, I don’t have an entire romance novel worth of stories to tear out of my best friend.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Will, putting his dishes on top of hers. “Just pee beforehand, please? I love you, but there are some things I do _not_ need to see.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Beverly saluted.

They got dressed and Will walked out to the shed, trailed by Bev, to pick out fishing rods and lures. Beverly lingered over Hannibal’s lures. “These are beautiful.”

“Hannibal made them,” Will said, unaware of the small smile that crept along his teeth. “He has an eye for that sort of thing.”

“He does, does he?” Beverly eyed him with a smirk of her own. “Maybe he can teach you something, after all. Maybe even several somethings, am I right?” She elbowed his side, smirk widening to a leer.

“You’re absolutely incorrigible,” Will chuckled, picking out a handful of lures. She was right about them: Will’s were haphazardly colorful, obviously crafted to catch a fish’s eye and little more, whereas Hannibal’s were coordinated and sleek. Will could _sell_ these lures, if he wanted to. In fact… that wasn’t a bad idea.

“Dude, _fishing_.” Beverly poked him. “You can admire your boyfriend’s handiwork—and that’s a mental image I never needed—later.”

“Fishing,” Will agreed.

Fishing with Beverly was… an experience. She always thought that if she talked at the fish, they’d somehow be more interested in biting, and Will never had the heart to tell her otherwise. Even though she scared the fish away.

This time, though, she chose instead to grill Will for information. He found himself reluctantly telling her about how he’d met Hannibal at Hal’s, and how he originally feared that Hannibal was some serial killer.

Beverly laughed aloud at that. “What?” Will demanded, flushing.

“I just—you _would_ think that. It’s so typical Graham.”

“Shut up,” Will grumbled, silently agreeing with her. “Back to what I was saying…”

For her part, Beverly was an attentive audience, so much so that Will started telling her even more that he’d planned to. Stories that he was supposed to gloss over suddenly became rich with detail, and Will found himself just as caught up in his story-telling as she was. 

Surprisingly, they managed to catch a decent number of fish, considering how little attention they were giving their fishing rods. By the time they docked, they had more than enough for dinner, and Will decided to package some up to give to Hannibal when he saw him next.

When they reached the house, Beverly stripped off her vest and scrubbed her hands in the sink. “I’ll make the batter if you do the boning?”

“I’m going to ignore that awful innuendo,” Will said, rolling his eyes when Beverly winked at him. “Just… don’t break anything?” 

Boning a fish was unpleasant to say the least, and Will worked quickly to pick out all of the delicate, needle-thin ribs. He gave Beverly the clean filets and watched as she dipped them in batter and immediately threw them into the frying pan.

“So, you excited for tonight?” Beverly asked, tossing Will a package of frozen vegetables to cook. “Little bit of dancing, little bit of mingling?”

“You know, I think I am,” Will said, emptying the bag into a bowl, which he popped in the microwave. “It’ll be nice to see some familiar faces.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Beverly giggled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Will demanded, grinning despite himself.

 “Uh, nothing.” Beverly shook her head. “It’s just, um, it’s good to see you actually excited about getting out of your shell. Hannibal must really be working a number on you.” 

“You make me sound like a complete hermit,” Will sighed, stirring butter into the now steaming vegetables. “I _do_ get out, now and again.”

“You’re right,” Beverly said, flipping the fish. “I retract my previous statement. You are a mostly-hermit with social tendencies. I see the error of my ways.”

“You,” Will spluttered, at a loss. “You, you suck. You suck a lot." 

“Like you would know,” Beverly snorted, and Will choked on air. “Come on, the fish is getting cold.”

Beverly caught Will up on all the latest gossip while they ate. “Oh, and you should’ve _heard_ what happened to Alana. You know Frederick Chilton, right?”

“I’m familiar,” Will said darkly. He’d only met the man once, but the taste that Chilton had left in his mouth was like ashy ozone. He wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.

“Well, he had some trouble with a patient, somewhat classified, and Alana got involved and, well, to keep it short, he called her a ‘self-righteous bitch with her head shoved so far up her vag that the only D she’d be getting was an M.D. in gynecology.’”

Will closed his eyes, unsure whether to get angry or burst out laughing. “And her response?”

“Alana? You know her. She did that quiet fury thing, where the entire room goes cold and you just know shit’s about to get real, and she said, ‘Considering the source, I’m _happy_ that’s the only D I’m getting.’”

“She didn’t!” Will crowed, roaring with laughter. “What am I saying? Of course she did.”

“You should’ve seen his face,” Beverly cackled. “It was like someone had shit a lemon into his mouth, I swear to God.” 

That made Will laugh harder. “That visual is fucking worth it.”

“Oh, it was perfect, you have _no_ idea. Alana deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for that,” Beverly insisted, wiping tears from her eyes. “When Crawford found out, buddy. I’ve never seen the man so proud, and that’s saying something.”

“How is Jack?” Will asked, wincing at the stitch in his side. “Still puffed up like a pelican?”

“Things with Bella aren’t good,” Beverly said, sobering. “It’s actually really awful. You can tell Jack’s devastated, but he refuses to talk about it. It’s made him worse than usual, but none of us mind. We just… I don’t know how to comfort him. I’m the decent one, you know? Price and Zeller dick around and Jack tolerates them, but _I’m_ the serious one. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Sometimes there’s nothing _to_ do,” Will said gently. “Losing someone _is_ devastating, Bev, and while his wife rots from the inside out, Jack has to go to work and see human life wasted day after day. That’s got to be ten levels of Hell.”

“Dating a psychiatrist has really worn off on you, bud,” Beverly observed. “Well, this has been fun, but I have less than two hours to make myself presentable, and I need every last second of it. Can you do the dishes?”

“No problem,” Will said, stacking plates and carrying them to the sink.

“You’re the best, hot stuff.” Beverly pecked him on the cheek and ran off to shower. 

It never even crossed his mind that he’d never told her what Hannibal did for a living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the ball! 
> 
> Just so we're clear, this story will be ten chapters long. I keep forgetting to mention it. My bad, everyone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the long-awaited ball scene! And a return to Hannigram-y goodness!
> 
> I will warn you guys, this chapter is super sweet. Like, I'm a little disgusted with myself, but it's just perfect. Well, you'll see what I mean.

When she emerged from the guest room an hour and a half later, Will gave a low whistle of appreciation and gestured for her to spin. “You look stunning, Bev.”

“What, this old thing?” Beverly joked, pulling the dress up at the bust nervously. The midnight blue gown was strapless and sleek, dipping just enough at the waist to justify clinging to her hips. It made Will feel underdressed in his tux.

“Shouldn’t I have a matching pocket square, or something?” he teased, picking up his keys and double-checking his pockets for his wallet. “Or, I don’t know, a boutonniere?" 

“You’re so hilarious, it’s a miracle I haven’t died already,” Beverly quipped dryly. “Come on, we’ve got a ball to rock.”

They listened to the radio on the way, singing along to the songs they knew and switching the channel on those they didn’t. The traffic jam getting into Quantico was just as awful as it always was, and Will and Bev ended up playing I-Spy to pass the time.

“It isn’t fair,” Will complained after a while. “You’re an FBI agent, it’s your job to hunt for obscure things.”

“Suck it, loser,” said Beverly, applying lip gloss in the passenger mirror. “Oh, the line’s moving, finally!”

The ball was in full swing by the time they managed to park and get past the security checks. Will snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and offered one to Beverly, drinking his own down in one fell swoop.

“Whoa, buddy, take it easy,” Bev cautioned, savoring her own drink. “I’d rather not have a repeat of Price in 2011.”

“I’m not going to vomit, Bev.” Will rolled his eyes. “I just need the social lubrication, that’s all.”

“Okay, never use that phrase again and I’ll forget this ever happened,” Beverly replied, grimacing.

“Deal,” Will agreed. “Would you like to dance?”

Will was no ballroom dancing master, but he knew enough to shuffle around a dance floor convincingly. Beverly, on the other hand, was the epitome of grace when she wanted to be, and swept Will away in a waltz.

They danced for a few songs—enough for Beverly to get sore in her heels—before making their way to the snack table. Say what you would about the Bureau, but they _did_ know how to serve finger food. They had tiny Philly cheesesteaks, cubes of smoked gouda wrapped in prosciutto, garlic broccoli skewers, hunks of chicken in a vivid yellow curry sauce, sausage stuffed with sweet peppers, miniature crème brûlées, squares of red velvet cake, and, Will noticed with absolute glee, a plethora of fruit surrounding a giant chocolate fountain.

“ _Bev_ ,” Will moaned. “Chocolate _fondue_.” 

“Oh my God,” Beverly breathed, stopping dead in her tracks. “It’s a fountain of chocolate.”

They made a beeline for the fondue, selecting a variety of fruits and snacks on the way. “This is definitely somewhere in the vicinity of heaven,” Will sighed, chewing on a chunk of pineapple slowly.

“Mm,” Bev agreed, “but with naked men instead of fruit.”

Will laughed loudly, surprising even himself, and blushed when several heads swiveled in his direction. “You can’t just say things like that, Bev.”

“I disagree,” Bev said, smiling evilly. “I can say whatever I want, however I want. Oh, look! It’s Alana!”

Will turned and saw Alana, who was positively glowing in her red gown. The halter-top accentuated her shoulders, and the back dropped sinfully low on her spine. Will thanked God that he got over his feelings for her years ago, because he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to speak otherwise.

“Alana!” Bev called, waving when the woman in question turned. “Come say hi!”

“The chocolate fountain? Already?” Alana ribbed, smiling brightly. “You look amazing, Beverly.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, my sister. You look gorgeous! Spilling the blood of your enemies suits you,” Bev replied, grinning when Alana looked embarrassed.

“Yes, well, I already had a date, anyway” she sniffed. “Speaking of, where is he? I swear, you leave him alone for one minute…”

Beverly bit her lip. “Oh, I’m sure,” she snickered, looking all for the world like the cat that got the canary.

“Will!” Alana said, diverting Will’s suspicious gaze away from his friend. “I haven’t seen you in months!” She leaned in and hugged him, and Will was overcome with a wave of spices and vanilla.

“It really has,” Will said, returning the hug tightly. “Congratulations on the M.D., by the way.”

Alana laughed, looking simultaneously proud and mortified. “Yes, well, I won’t be playing doctor anytime soon, least of all with him.” 

“Damn straight,” Beverly chimed in. “What a skeeze. You’d need to be an M.D. after sleeping with him just so you could diagnose whatever gross disease he gave you.”

“Bev,” scolded Will, scandalized. “Seriously?”

“You’re right,” Alana said, making Will shut his mouth in surprise. “Oh, I found my date! Be right back.”

“Wow,” said Will, biting into a strawberry he’d just dipped in the fountain. “She’s changed.”

“Nah,” Bev denied, “he’s just that gross. I need more champagne.” She gestured to a waiter and took a flute, sipping at it delicately. “Oh, champagne and chocolate, now there’s a combination worth a fantasy or two.” 

“Sorry, everyone,” Alana said, returning with her date. “Will, this is—“

“Hannibal?” Will asked, stunned.

“I’m gone for two days,” Hannibal sighed, reaching up to smudge under Will’s lip. He pulled away, thumb covered in chocolate, and stuck the digit in his mouth.

“Right,” Will said, suddenly breathless. “Sorry.”

“Mm. It’ll cost you an orange slice,” Hannibal declared, stealing the fruit and popping it in his mouth before Will could even agree.

“So… I take it you two know each other?” Alana questioned. Will had completely forgotten she was there. To be honest, he’d forgotten pretty much everything outside of how Hannibal’s lips looked pursed around his thumb.

Suddenly, something clicked in Will’s mind. “You knew,” he accused, turning to Beverly. “You knew this entire time and you said nothing.”

“Oh, it was so worth it,” Beverly gushed. “Look at you two! My _God_.”

“I’ll deal with you later,” Will promised, giving Bev his best hairy eye. “Hannibal, what are you doing here? I thought you had a thing with a colleague.”

“Yes, Ms. Bloom and I have known each other for quite some time,” Hannibal said, offering Alana a warm smile, which she returned. “She brought me in to help with a case a few months ago, and we have kept in contact since that time.”

“You know Alana,” WiIl repeated, trying to come to terms with just how small his world was. “You know Alana, and you’ve worked with the FBI. I—okay.”

“How do _you_ know Alana?” Hannibal asked him, eyes darting between them with what Will suspected was an edge of jealousy.

“She was my therapist, a few years back. Actually, she’s the one that suggested I take in dogs.”

“I think I said, ‘get a pet,’ actually,” Alana retorted, smiling. “As in _one_ pet, not _seven_.”

“I’m telling Abby,” Will said, mock-offended. “See if she lets you scratch her ears _then_ , why don’t you?”

“And Ms. Katz, a pleasure, as always,” Hannibal said, bowing to kiss Beverly’s knuckles.

“Doctor Lecter,” she smiled. “Good to see you, too. Just so you know, I’m trained in multiple forms of martial arts, I can hack into most types of computer system, and Will is my best friend.”

“Bev,” Will groaned, “really?”

“Hey, it’s you and me, amigo,” Beverly said. “I’m not the one-man wolf pack type, capisce?”

“I doubt you need worry,” said Hannibal, and Will turned to see him giving him the softest of smiles. Will’s face heated and he returned the smile, suddenly very interested in the shine of his shoes. “But I will keep that in mind.”

“I hope you do. I like this.” Beverly gesticulated broadly at the two men with her arms. “I didn’t think I would, but you guys work.”

“Brilliant assessment, Bev,” Will drawled. “Hannibal, would you like to dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, offering an arm. They took their spots on the dance floor and started swaying. “I must admit, though I’m sure you already assumed this: I’m not the best dancer.”

Will huffed a laugh. “I didn’t really consider that, actually, but that’s okay. Bev already put me through my paces this evening.”

“It’s funny,” Hannibal remarked, “but all those times you mentioned ‘Bev’ I never thought you could possibly mean Beverly Katz.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Will noted. Hannibal’s hand sank an inch from where it was pressed into his back, and Will fought to suppress a shudder.

“Ms. Katz—Bev—has an abrupt sort of honesty, which I find disorienting. I grew up learning to, how should I say, _mince_ the truth into polite conversation. It was more important to remain civil than to speak one’s mind.”

“And Beverly has no problem being rude, if it suits her needs,” Will supplied, nodding. “Yeah, we got off to a rocky start, too. I met her through Alana, you see, and she almost immediately asked me what kind of unstable I was. _Not_ the best way to make a friend.”

“At the risk of sounding similarly rude, why _did_ you see Ms. Bloom? She typically deals with, well, very serious situations.”

“My dad died,” Will confessed, smiling grimly when Hannibal’s hand clenched around his own. “It hit me hard. It’s why I left Louisiana, but moving didn’t help. All I knew was how to fix boats— _his_ craft—and I just… I saw him everywhere. I felt like I couldn’t escape his death. Alana helped me through it, and, if we’re going to be completely honest, I think I owe her my life.”

“I would offer my condolences, but I know how little that helps,” Hannibal said, empathy etched into his brow. “So, instead, let me offer my ear. Grief is conquered alone, but it is fought with friendship.”

“I thought we were past the point of friendship, Doctor Lecter,” Will teased, smiling. He tightened his grip on Hannibal’s shoulder, pulling the man closer to him. Hannibal’s eyes heated, just slightly.

“I am of the belief that a relationship doesn’t surpass friendship; it deepens it. We will always be friends first, Will, and lovers second. We are the candle that burns, not the fire that blazes.”

Something shifted inside Will, and he pressed his lips to Hannibal’s before he had the chance to say the words that were tingling on them. He moved his hand—the one on Hannibal’s shoulder—up to cup the back of Hannibal’s head, careful to avoid ruffling his hair. Hannibal kissed him back slowly, as if savoring the contact.

“You’re not allowed to say such perfect things to me when we’re in the middle of the FBI’s annual ball,” Will murmured along Hannibal’s cheek. “I’d rather avoid the felonies, if I can.” 

Hannibal stopped swaying, and Will froze. All of the times Hannibal pulled away from their kisses flashed through his mind, and Will felt like he’d been doused in a bucket of cold water. “Fuck, I mean,” he stammered, pulling away from Hannibal, who had yet to move, “I don’t mean to, like, pressure you, or anything. Shit, I’m… I told you I was bad at this, right?”

That spurred Hannibal into action. He reached out and grasped Will’s hands, which were running through his hair angrily. “Will,” Hannibal soothed, urgent, “what on Earth do you mean?”

“I just… you always pull away,” Will said helplessly, shoulders slumping. “Whenever we’re remotely close to, to _intimacy_ , you get up and leave. And I… well, I dunno, I’m not sure how to react to that.”

“I’ve done wrong by you,” Hannibal realized. “Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere?”

Will looked around and saw all of the surreptitious glances being thrown their way. “The dance floor’s not the best place, no.”

They walked outside and found a bench to sit on. “Will… this is difficult for me to explain,” Hannibal began, looking terribly uncomfortable, “but I do owe you an explanation. You are familiar with my childhood, but I never told you about my adult life. I fell in love, once, in France, to—well, that’s not important. I fell quickly, desperate to find someone to fill the void that my family had left. It was, to use the metaphor I created earlier, a fire that blazed. I gave of myself so readily, so eagerly, and I ended up losing it all. The fire burned out, and she moved on.

“I, however, couldn’t. I was so determined to keep the void filled that I ended up losing myself, instead. It felt like losing my family all over again. I can’t, Will, I can’t go through that anymore. I _cannot_ surrender my heart, just to have it further mutilated.”

“Hey,” Will said softly, cupping Hannibal’s jaw. “Oh, Hannibal, I didn’t know. God, it makes so much sense now. Hannibal, look at me.”

He waited until Hannibal’s eyes, which were just beginning to redden, met his. “I love you. Okay? I _love_ you.” Will huffed a laugh. “I am _so_ in love with you, it feels like my entire body is ready to split apart so I can give you half of it. You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” Hannibal replied, tiny tendrils of hope bleeding into his eyes. Will’s heart clenched. 

“It’s funny, because we are completely opposite, but the same,” Will went on, battering down on his own sense of vulnerability because he knew how much Hannibal needed to hear this. “I have lived my entire life in a bubble, holed up in Wolf Trap with nothing but dogs to keep me company. Where you give earnestly, I don’t give at all. I’ve always held my heart close, reinforced my rib cage to the point of impenetrability, because I, too, could not handle it breaking. 

“But you seem to have the key, as trite as that metaphor may be,” Will continued, smiling, “to that extra-durable ribcage of mine. You’ve been sneaking in when I wasn’t looking, pilfering away bits of my heart in bite-size pieces—”

“I thought we agreed to stop with the cannibal jokes,” Hannibal interrupted, eyes full to the brim with a warm emotion Will knew was reflected in his own. He laughed wetly and realized, belatedly, that he must have started crying, somewhere.

“You know what I mean. I think I started looking the other way on purpose, though. Leaving the door unlocked to save you the time. Because you’ve got me, now, Hannibal, you’ve got it all. Every last morsel. I can’t mutilate your heart, because that would mean mutilating my own.”

Hannibal tugged him in for a kiss that was wet with tears. Will clung to the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket, feeling utterly defenseless, but irrevocably protected. It felt good, saying aloud the words that he hadn’t even realized were weighing on his shoulders.

“I thought I was supposed to be the clumsy, well-spoken sexy, and you were the graceful, mumbling sexy. This really isn’t fair,” Hannibal whispered, parroting Will’s words from that day in Wolf Trap.

“Oh, I think you’ve got your half down perfectly,” Will quoted, corners of his mouth tugging up.

Hannibal’s smile outshined the sun.

Beverly was dancing with Zeller when Will and Hannibal finally returned to the ballroom, but she quickly broke away when she saw them. “There you two are! I was looking _everywhere_ for you! Wait,” she said, voice lowering as she approached them, “hey, are you two okay?”

It dawned on Will that they probably looked like a tear-stained mess. He glanced at Hannibal and, despite himself, couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, Bev, we’re fine.”

Her expression changed to one of exasperated understanding. “You two are impossible. Here, give me your keys. I’ll drive Alana home and take care of the dogs. But I’m spending the night." 

“You’d do that?” Will asked, flabbergasted.

“Will, you’re finally happy. Go, be merry and whatever. I’ll be fine.”

“Bev, you’re the best,” Will said, bending to kiss her on the cheek.

“I expect details,” she whispered into his ear.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Will promised, dropping his keys into her outstretched palm.

“I should tell Alana that I’m leaving,” Hannibal said quickly, “I’ll be back momentarily.”

He rushed off and bumped into a waiter, who had to lunge to save a tray full of empty champagne flutes.

“I don’t know what I see in him,” Will sighed, shaking his head.

“I do,” Beverly replied. “I was so stunned when you said _Hannibal Lecter_ was your secret boyfriend, you know. I mean, you? And Hannibal? That’s like mixing root beer and vodka. But you guys _fit_ , and it’s weird and disconcerting and absolutely _right_. I definitely see it.”

“When did you get articulate?” Will asked, and he was only half-joking. This Beverly, the one with the soft eyes and the sad, proud smirk was completely foreign to him.

“Well,” she said, smirk widening to a grin, “I’ll have to drink half a bottle of whiskey to get myself to sorts again, but, you know, yeah. Must be the girly clothes.”

“So,” Will said, nudging her with his elbow to change the subject, “you and Zeller, huh?”

“Fuck no,” Beverly snorted. “Do you know what he talked about the entire time we were dancing? Hagfish. Do you know what a hagfish is?”

“That’s disgusting,” Will replied. Of course he knew what hagfish were; he spent his life on the water. Hagfish were eel-like, wormy creatures that ate decomposing flesh and produced enough slime to make a ghostbuster scream. “Why was he talking about hagfish?”

“Didn’t care to ask,” Beverly said. At that moment, Hannibal returned.

“Alana says goodnight,” he told Will. “And goodnight to you, Ms. Katz.”

“Call me Bev,” she replied. “Have fun, you two!”

“We will,” Hannibal reassured her, clasping Will’s hand and running a nail over the inside of his wrist. It felt like a crackle of electricity, and Will contemplated committing those felonies, after all.

Then he remembered that sex wasn’t a matter of ‘when,’ it was a matter of ‘how quickly,’ and the crackle turned into a full-fledged thunderstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we could all use a shot of whiskey after that one, hmm? And maybe some bacon and, I dunno, other manly things. 
> 
> Oh, and to quote the show: "Who's hungry?" I was starving when I wrote this scene, and it shows. Yumm chocolate.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, everyone. The final chapter. I'm not totally happy with the way it turned out, specifically the first bit, but... oh well. Hopefully it reads well.
> 
> For this chapter, I'm leaving you with a [a glorious photoset of Mads in suits](http://themurderfamilybusiness.tumblr.com/post/57323181848/i-found-suits-very-late-in-life). Enjoy. ;)

Strangely enough, the frisson of sexual tension that prompted Will and Hannibal to leave the ball faded to an uncomfortable “just” tension during the drive back to Hannibal’s house. Will drummed his fingers on the fine wool of his slacks, sneaking glances at Hannibal’s face, which stayed on the road and was only illuminated in flashes, when they passed under a streetlight.

Will wasn’t exactly sure what caused the undercurrent of desire to ebb out of the hasty anticipation that had thundered through his stomach at Quantico. Hannibal and he had already _done_ the whole “confession of feelings” bit; they’d gotten through the part that most couples hesitated over like an expensive purchase. They’d established their relationship; all that was left was to consummate it. Or, as Beverly oh-so-maturely put it, “doing the do.” This was supposed to be the easy part, goddammit!

But honestly, they’d approached this relationship ass-backwards from the start, hadn’t they? They went on dates before they were dating, Will spent the night before there was any decent reason to do so, and they’d fallen into the peaceful ease of a married couple before they’d even gotten mar—

Well, that was a whole other story, one that Will didn’t need to be thinking about right now. As it was, his heart had forsaken any attempt at rhythmic beating, and his entire person was coated in a fine sheen of cold sweat. It, sadly, reminded him of when he first started seeing Alana because he’d been having so many panic attacks that he was starting to lose control of his reality.

 _My name is Will Graham,_ he thought, forcing his body to relax, muscle group by muscle group, _it is 11:37 pm, and I deserve this relationship. I deserve to be happy, and I deserve Hannibal. I can do this_.

The exercise did its jo, and Will began to relax. He was still nervous—how could he not be, when he was finally about to get what he’d been wanting for weeks?—but his anxiety no longer threatened to consume him.

Hannibal pulled into the driveway and got out, rushing to open Will’s door for him. He was also nervous, Will saw, though he did a very good job of hiding it. Actually, if Will hadn’t been spending the last four weeks (had it only been four weeks? Really?) studying Hannibal in an attempt to see why he refused to take things past light petting, he would’ve thought Hannibal was calm and in control. It was the faint tick in the tendon of his neck, the subconscious extra blinks that gave Hannibal away.

At least Will would be sleeping with someone he could read like a book. Undoubtedly it would make this night a lot easier for the both of them.

Nevertheless, Hannibal’s anxiousness was bleeding into Will, and he found himself starting to panic again. Not in the same way as before, where the panic loomed like an orange-black cloud on the edges of his vision, but enough so that his hands shook when he accepted Hannibal’s help out of the car, and that the back of his neck tingled sharply.

Hannibal fumbled with the keys of his house, impossibly clumsier that usual in his nervousness. It reminded Will—as he had so often been reminded when he allowed his opinion of Hannibal to venture too high—that Hannibal was just a man, the same man that could craft gorgeous lures one second and trip on thin air the next; the same man that could so readily cook fish that Will had caught, but refused to catch the fish himself because he couldn’t bear to watch it asphyxiate slowly, a lure _he designed_ trapped in its lip.

This was _Hannibal_.

Will pressed up against him, chest pressed to the psychiatrist’s back, and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s torso, one hand resting on his sternum. “Hey.” 

Hannibal’s shoulders slumped, and he leaned back into Will. “I’m sorry.”

Will pressed a kiss to the back of Hannibal’s neck. “Nothing to be sorry about. We don’t have to do this tonight, you know.”

Hannibal turned in Will’s arms, reaching up to hold his face. “I know. But I want to. I just—it’s been a while.”

Will released Hannibal. “Keys?” he requested, holding out a hand. Hannibal gave them to him, and he unlocked the door and ushered Hannibal into his own house.

Hannibal’s openness—compared to how composed and controlled he usually acted, even when he was being affectionate—was unsettling. It simultaneously made Will more eager to deserve such honesty and on edge because, come on, Hannibal’s the socially graceful one, and Will can’t handle taking care of two sets of neuroses right now.

He followed Hannibal up the stairs and down the hallway, to the set of double doors, and past them. Hannibal’s bedroom made Will stop in his tracks, nerves forgotten. 

Generally, Hannibal’s house was a bright, happy place, full of flowers and paintings. His bedroom, though… his bedroom felt like seduction itself. The walls were blood red, dark and rich and just this side of morbid. All of the furniture was a shiny, lacquered black with gold accents, which offset the red extraordinarily well. And the sheet were— “Are those _satin_?”  
  
“Silk,” Hannibal replied off-handedly, untying his bowtie and walking into an adjoining closet. 

“Silk,” Will echoed, groaning. Immature as it sounded, tonight was going to be _awesome_.

Hannibal walked back out, undoing the top two buttons of his dress shirt, which exposed the shadow of his collarbone. It made Will’s mouth water. “Would you like a drink, or maybe—”

Will never found out what else Hannibal was going to offer, because he was kissing the words straight out of his mouth. Hannibal immediately curled his arms around Will’s neck, tugging him closer so their bodies were touching from chest to thigh. Hannibal’s tongue found its way into Will’s mouth and licked along his hard palate.

“How is it possible,” Will moaned between kisses, “that you can look so sexy while so _clothed_?” 

“It’s a skill,” Hannibal quipped, running deft hands down the buttons of Will’s shirt. He shoved at the material and Will realized that he’d unbuttoned everything _that quickly_. God _damn_.

Will did his best to reciprocate, pushing buttons through their tiny holes, only pausing to tug his own dress shirt the rest of the way off. They broke apart, gasping for breath, and Will had to shut his eyes to avoid coming too soon.

“Jesus Christ,” he grit out. Hannibal was panting, shirt hanging open to reveal a lightly furred, muscular chest and actual _abs_. A thick line of hair trailed down into his pants, which were tented around a rather prominent bulge. It took everything in Will to stop him from dropping to his knees then and there, sucking Hannibal into his mouth while jerking off harshly.

“Will,” Hannibal growled. “Bed. Now.”

Will shuddered, mentally adding “Commanding” to his list of turn-ons, and sat on the edge of the bed. Hannibal walked into his space, wedging himself between Will’s thighs and running a hand through Will’s hair. Will leaned into the touch, closing his eyes against the visual of Hannibal’s crotch, up close and personal.

“I want to,” Will said, reaching for the button of Hannibal’s trousers, “can I?”

The hand in Will’s hair tightened, causing Will to inhale sharply. “God, yes.”

Will nuzzled at the line of hair above Hannibal’s waistband as he worked open the button and shoved Hannibal’s pants down around his thighs. He licked a broad stripe up the underside of Hannibal’s cock through his boxers (eggplant silk, so dark they almost didn’t change color when Will licked them) and mouthed at the head, lost in the flavor of expensive cologne, silk, and musk.

Will slid both thumbs beneath the waistband and rubbed circles across Hannibal’s hips. Hannibal gasped, the sound so quiet that Will could barely make it out. Will looked up, catching Hannibal’s eyes as he sucked a drop of precome through Hannibal’s boxers. Hannibal was watching him, face flushed, and biting his lip so hard the flesh around it was turning white.

Will grinned and, in a sudden movement, pushed Hannibal’s boxers down to join his pants and sucked Hannibal all the way into his mouth.

“Will!” Hannibal cried, eyes wide with shock and arousal. Will massaged the head of Hannibal’s cock with the flat of his tongue, trying desperately to remember what one was supposed to do while giving head. He withdrew enough to tongue at the slit, enjoying the dusky flavor of Hannibal far more than he expected to. He’d read somewhere, a long time ago, that pre-ejaculate and ejaculate (this was a rather clinical read) tended to mirror whatever the man ate. For example, if a man ate nothing but fish, his spunk would take on a fishy taste.

He thanked everything holy for Hannibal’s palate, because _wow_.

“Will,” Hannibal said, urgent. The hand in Will’s hair dropped to his shoulder. “Will, you need to st— _oh, fuck, that’s perfect_ —you need to stop, or this will be over far too soon.”

Will paused, shutting his eyes tightly. Hannibal swearing was _not_ something he’d expected (it was becoming a list, the things that surprised Will), and it set a fire of lust burning low in his belly. He slid off Hannibal slowly, licking away pearly drops of precome as he found them. Delicious.

Hannibal collapsed next to Will, making the bed bounce. “You are far too good at that.”

“Hannibal?” Will asked, his voice rough. “I need you to fuck me. Like, _now_.”

The next thing he knew, he was being shoved back on the bed, and Hannibal was looming over him, eyes sharp and calculating. Will felt a cold-hot tingle race down his spine. A domineering Hannibal was _definitely_ something he could get behind.

“Do you have any idea,” Hannibal purred, swooping down to bite at the tendon of Will’s neck, “what you do to me? You drive me _insane_.”

An errant thought went through Will’s mind, and he bit back a laugh. “Just, not, you know, in the psychopathic cannibal way, right?”

“I don’t know,” Hannibal replied, licking a path up to Will’s earlobe, which he worried between his teeth. “You taste good enough to eat.”

Will groaned, rutting up against Hannibal’s thigh. “Jesus _fuck_ , Hannibal.”

The weight on Will disappeared, and he opened his eyes to watch Hannibal rifle through his nightstand. A second later, he was back with a bottle of lube in hand. He grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Will’s hips. Will would have mourned the loss of such an expensive pillowcase—for surely it would get ruined after tonight—but he couldn’t muster up the focus to care. Especially not when a slippery finger started tracing circles around his hole. 

Will arched, keening, when the finger slid into him. He looked down at Hannibal, who was watching his fingers with rapt fascination, and felt an overwhelming wave of love crash though him. “Hannibal,” he murmured, “come up here.”

Hannibal bit at the inside of Will’s thigh, sliding a second finger in to join the first. Will tensed, the burst of pleasure-pain going straight to his cock. Hannibal kissed his way up Will’s torso, licking deep into his belly button and nibbling at each nipple, finally coming to a stop at Will’s ear. “You wanted to see me?”

Will turned his head, catching Hannibal’s lips in a kiss as he threw his arms around the older man’s neck. He panted his moans into the cavern of Hannibal’s mouth as he started to fuck himself back onto Hannibal’s fingers.

A third finger joined the first two. Will welcomed the burn; it cut through the haze of lust he’d fallen into, and he took in his surroundings in an instant of clarity. Hannibal’s scent had turned tangy with sweat, and his muscles (and really, how could a middle-aged psychiatrist have _so many muscles_? It hardly seemed fair.) were shining as they bunched.

“Are you ready?” Hannibal asked, sucking open-mouthed kisses onto Will’s throat.

Will’s fingers speared through Hannibal’s hair, dragging his mouth up to his own. “ _Yes_.”

Hannibal pulled his fingers out of Will and reared back just enough to grab his cock and nudge it into place against Will’s hole. Will moaned, high and needy, as Hannibal began pushing into him, inch by slow inch. Will braced himself against the sparks of pain—Hannibal’s cock was sizably bigger than his fingers—and dug his fingers into Hannibal’s sides.

Hannibal bottomed out, groaning into the space between Will’s neck and shoulder. A moment later, Will realized that Hannibal had yet to move. He was waiting for Will.

“My name is Will Graham,” Will whispered, fighting against a wall of lust, “I have no idea what time it is, and I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will have my wicked way with you, and you’ll have no say in it.”

“Tempting offer,” Hannibal said, grinning against Will’s skin. He withdrew an inch and thrust back in, hard. “But maybe later.”

And with that, he pulled out almost all the way and _slammed_ back in. Will choked out a cry, back bowing so hard that he felt his spine pop. Hannibal began moving in earnest, pulling himself up to his elbows. Will looked down at where they were joined. Hannibal’s abs rippled as his hips moved, and Will felt vaguely cheated, somehow; when had clumsy, adorable Hannibal turned into a sex god? This certainly wasn’t the same man that spilled popcorn all over himse— “Oh, _fuck,_ Hannibal, right there, do that again.”

Hannibal rolled his hips just so, grazing Will’s prostate, and Will scrabbled at Hannibal’s back with his fingernails.

“God, Will,” Hannibal growled, sucking harshly at Will’s neck, “I wish you could see what you do to me. All covered up in grease and sweat, God I wanted to fuck you so badly that day, when you taught me about motors. I wanted to bend you over your own work table and lick you open until you screamed my name.”

“ _Fuck._ ”  Will bucked under Hannibal, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort of trying not to come. “You can’t just say those things,” he ground out when he could.

“Or better yet,” Hannibal continued, angling to push even deeper into Will, “tonight. When I saw you in that tuxedo, Will…” he thrust hard, once, pushing Will up the bed by an inch, “… and next to _fondue_ , nonetheless. I can only thank God I was raised with such self-restraint. What I wouldn’t do to see you dripping in chocolate….”

“You know,” Will gasped, and later he would have _no_ idea how he managed to say this, “that’s one of the perks of this whole ‘relationship’ thing. We can do that.”

Hannibal stopped moving, and Will was about to complain, but then he saw the look in Hannibal’s eye. Hannibal looked like his every dream had been answered. It absolutely took Will’s breath away.

“We can, can’t we?” Hannibal wondered. “We can go out tomorrow and do whatever we want. We have the rest of our lives, if we want them.”

“Yeah, Hannibal,” said Will, smiling softly. He stroked a hand through Hannibal’s hair. “That’s how love works.”

“I love you.” Hannibal searched his eyes, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Will said, leaning up to kiss Hannibal. “Now, are we gonna do this, or what?” 

“Oh,” Hannibal purred, eyes darkening, “we are _definitely_ doing this.” He shifted his hips, and Will groaned as a bolt of pleasure shot from his prostate to his balls and up through his cock.

Hannibal removed the pillow from under Will and sat on his knees, so that Will was draped over his lap. He thrust a few times, fingers clenching hard into the flesh of Will’s hips, then dragged Will up so that he was effectively sitting in Hannibal’s lap.

“Oh,” Will said intelligently, adjusting to the new angle. He ran his fingers over Hannibal’s cheekbones and rolled his hips, just slightly. Hannibal bowed his head and started sucking a line of bruises onto Will’s clavicle.

And then Will understood: he was in control now. To make the obvious and corny joke: this was his rodeo.

He lifted himself up on his knees and swiveled back down, delighting in the pleased murmur it drew from Hannibal. It took him a minute or two to find a good rhythm, but then the press of Hannibal inside him gained an edge of desperation, and Will let his instincts take over.

He bit at Hannibal’s lips, reveling in the scratch of Hannibal’s nails over his curved spine. Moans and whimpers were breathed into the space between their mouths, tongues sweeping the sounds out of existence almost before they’d begun. Before too long, Hannibal was pushing up into Will, breath going ragged with effort. It took one, two, three, four more thrusts, and Hannibal was coming, tugging Will down onto his cock by the shoulders.

The feeling of Hannibal coming inside him triggered Will’s own orgasm, which ripped through him like a hurricane. His vision whited out, and he vaguely heard himself cry “Hanni _bal_.”

When he came back down, Hannibal was pressing wet, sloppy open-mouthed kisses across his chest.

“Hey,” Will said, chucking under Hannibal’s chin until the older man looked him in the eye. “Love you." 

Hannibal grinned, sweaty and tired and absolutely glowing. “Love you, too.” 

Will yawned, stretching until he accidentally shifted on the cock still inside him. Hannibal inhaled, oversensitive.

“Sorry,” Will said, pulling away with a groan. “I’ll be right back.” As amazing as it felt to have Hannibal’s come inside of him (Hannibal’s come was _inside of him, oh my God_ ), Will knew it would feel awful in the morning. Best to clean up now and avoid the discomfort.

He rifled around in Hannibal’s bathroom, looking for the washcloths, when he heard running water behind him. Hannibal was dampening a washcloth already.

“What?” Hannibal said, seeing Will’s incredulous look. “Did you think that I would just abandon you after sex?”

“No,” Will faltered, suddenly acutely aware of the drip of spunk running down the back of his thigh, “I just... I’m surprised, that’s all. It’s a very personal thing.”

“So is sex,” Hannibal argued. “Now turn around.”

Will followed Hannibal’s instructions, mortified. He squeaked when he felt the cloth—warm; it was nice of Hannibal to consider that—trail up the back of his thigh. “My name is Will Graham,” he whispered. “It’s sometime after midnight, and this is _not_ awkward.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Do I overwhelm you, Will?”

“How did you—" 

“Who do you think taught Alana?”

Will suddenly felt very stupid. “Oh.”

Hannibal kissed the small of his back. “You have no idea how sexy you are, do you? I’ll admit, it’s very primal of me, but seeing you like this? Makes me wish I was nineteen again.”

Will shivered, his confidence returning slowly. Hannibal wiped over Will’s hole, pausing to rub his thumb along the rim. “Absolutely beautiful,” he breathed.

Will turned around pinning Hannibal to the sink. “Is this how you like me?” he whispered filthily, “marked up? Covered in your come? _Claimed_?”

Hannibal’s face shut down, resigned. “I—" 

“Good,” Will cut him off, kissing his cheek. “Because that’s what I am. _Yours_.”

Hannibal opened his eyes, awe and possessiveness warring for dominance in them. “ _Mine.”_

“Exactly,” Will said, “and we have the rest of our lives to prove that, if we want. But for now, I’m exhausted, and your bed is really nice.”

“To bed, then, and the rest of our lives,” Hannibal said, grinning widely.

Will had never slept better.

* * *

Epilogue

The next morning, Will awoke to a tray being placed across his lap. “What’s this?” he asked, although it was quite obvious that Hannibal had made him breakfast in bed. 

“An apology,” Hannibal replied, looking sheepish. “My behavior last night was completely uncalled for. I tend to cling to the things I like, because they oh-so-often fade away. I’m afraid I extended the same belief onto you, and it made me… uncouth.”

“Well, I think ‘uncouth’ was sort of the _point_ of last night, but I accept your apology,” Will said, sinking his teeth into a chunk of grilled zucchini. He _hmm_ ed in delight. “I might be prompted to evoke more crudeness out of you, if this is the result.”

Hannibal laughed, reaching over to pluck a grape off Will’s plate. “Furthermore,” Will said, looking down at his lap. “You have every right to cling, as long as I can cling back.”

“You have the right to do anything you like,” Hannibal returned, voice like honeyed gravel. “That ‘was sort of the point’ of this relationship.”

“… Anything?”

An hour later, Will picked up his forgotten breakfast and took it to Hannibal’s study. He had a promise to fulfill.

“Hello?”

“Hey Bev,” Will said, grinning around a bite of ham. “Home okay?”

“Oh my _God_ , Will,” Beverly shrieked. “You guys totally did it!”

Will flashed back to half an hour ago, when he had fucked Hannibal into the mattress. “That we did.”

“Oh _gross_ , don’t get all growly on the phone! I don’t need that!”

“Sorry,” Will said, unrepentant. “Side effect of getting laid, I guess.”

“Side effect of falling in love, bro,” Bev corrected. “Ha, that’s actually kind of funny.”

“What?” Will asked, taking a sip of orange juice. Was this fucking fresh-squeezed? Jesus.

“It’s just—Hannibal’s so clumsy, you know? I mean, he almost got kicked out of the BAU for knocking over a whiteboard full of case materials—but, you know, you fell for him, in the end.”

“I love you, Bev,” Will replied. Maybe it was all of the sappy romance, maybe it was the orange juice, Will didn’t know, but he felt really, really good. “I don’t say it enough. You’re a fourteen-year-old boy sometimes, and you’re a horrible singer, but you really are the best friend I could’ve ever asked for.”

“I’m going to ignore the singer comment,” Bev said dryly, “but thanks. Ditto. It’s been awesome, being the Mercutio to your Romeo. Oh, speaking of, you will not _believe_ who Zeller went home with.”

“Who?”

“ _Freddie fuckin’ Lounds_.”

“Are you kidding?” Will asked, aghast. “How’d she even get in?”

“You know her,” Bev said. “She has her creepy-as-fuck ways. I just… it was weird, dude. Really weird.”

“Good for him,” he said. “You know, that’s actually not the worst combination, those two.”

“Okay, obviously your mind is riddled with oxytocin and you aren’t fully aware of what you’re saying, because _no_. Go back to Loverboy—a word I never would have applied to Hannibal Lecter _ever_ —and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Oh, remind me to kick your ass for not warning me about that,” Will demanded. “You knew, all along, and you let me prattle on about him, and make an ass of myself at the ball.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t have taken that from you for the world,” Bev insisted. “Your face when you saw him? Absolutely priceless. Like a proper damsel-in-distress seeing her knight.”

“Fuck you,” Will said, grinning. “Later.”

“Back atcha, sugar tits! Tell Hannibal I say ‘Bed him well.’”

Will hung up, shaking his head. He took the empty tray down to the kitchen and returned to Hannibal’s bedroom, crawling beneath the still-warm sheets with a sigh.

“Bev says hi.”

“You mean Bev said something inappropriate, and you’re editing for her.” Hannibal grinned lazily from behind his newspaper.

“Her exact words were ‘bed him well,’” Will admitted, smiling when Hannibal huffed a laugh. “But I figured that point was moot, anyway.”

“Quite right,” Hannibal said, folding up his newspaper and curling into Will’s side. “Now sleep, we have a day off and I plan to make good use of it.

Will threw an arm over Hannibal and closed his eyes.

“My name is Will Graham,” he breathed, looking straight into Hannibal’s eyes. “It is eight-thirty, and Beverly was wrong: you aren’t my knight in shining armor. You didn’t save me.

“We saved each other.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory long author's note:
> 
> Thank you to everyone that kudosed, subscribed, bookmarked, commented upon, or even _read_ this story. As the first chaptered story that I didn't have completed in advance, this was a long haul for me. I almost always orphan my works, too frazzled to finish them. This was growth for me, and it was awesome. Thanks for sticking it out.
> 
> As a reward, I'm going to let you in on my next story (also known as shameless self-promotion): [A Hannibal/Addams Family crossover!](http://jenetica.tumblr.com/post/57441594920/athingforthevillains-i-feel-that-morticia-could) I'm a massive fan of the TV series, and I'm really excited to get started on this fic. 
> 
> More promotion (because, LBR, I'm an attention whore): I've completed the first part of my Hannibal headcanon. [This segment](http://jenetica.tumblr.com/post/57273184078/hannibal-jeneticas-headcanon-part-one-sexuality) is on Hannibal's sexuality, especially as it pertains to his relationship with Clarice and his relationship with Will. 
> 
> My promos are over, now. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, again, thank you SO MUCH for reading this story. I love you all.


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